


Love Over Waffles

by Feynite, SeleneLavellan



Series: The Bagel AU [5]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-27
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-08-30 02:20:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 32,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16756021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feynite/pseuds/Feynite, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeleneLavellan/pseuds/SeleneLavellan
Summary: Dirthamen thinks about saying hello to this woman, sometimes.He thinks about confirming that she is a teacher. Talking with her about her students. Asking how well she likes her job, and what school she teaches at. What grade. Elementary, he guesses. He thinks about asking if she would like to sit with him.





	1. Chapter 1

There is a woman who comes, almost every morning it seems, to the little Fereldan diner off of Denerim’s Eighth Street.

Dirthamen knows this  because he has taken to having breakfast there himself, most mornings. He detours there before work, and sits in one of the little two-person booths near to the door, and generally he orders waffles. Sometimes Ess gives him a free muffin or piece of crumble or pie. Dirthamen is not certain why - he can afford to pay her well enough - but she still does it.

It is… pleasant.

Usually he comes by quite early, before Ess’ shift ends. But some mornings he does not make it in time, and the next shift has started. Ess has gone home to sleep, and Lath is there instead, and there are usually more customers who are not truck drivers. Or local youths with ‘the munchies’.

That is when the woman is generally in the diner.

Dirthamen takes special note of her at first because of the plants.

She has a tray of them with her. It looks like an old baking tray, with many little black, soil-filled containers lined up on it. Tiny green shoots wind up from the tops of them. The woman takes one of the larger tables, and rests the tray onto it, as Lath skips over to take her order. The two talk as if they know one another.

“Is that for your class?” Lath asks.

“Mmhmm. We just got finished with bean sprouts, so I thought I’d give them something a little more complicated to try next. They’re tomato plants,” she explains.

From this, Dirthamen gathers that the woman is a teacher. She orders a coffee and the breakfast special, and takes her tomato plants with her when she leaves. As she passes Dirthamen’s table, she spares him a glance. And then another one. She blinks, just a bit, as if something has startled her. But as Dirthamen is checking to make certain he has not done anything strange while he wasn’t paying attention, she leaves.

The next time he comes by later in the morning, she is there again, though. This time there is a stack of multi-coloured folders on the table beside her.

Dirthamen finds himself observing this woman, whenever he gets the chance for it. She is taller than average, with pale hair but dark skin. Dalish, he thinks, going off of the vallaslin on her face, and the style of her clothes. She is sharp-featured and has a sharp voice, too, but she laughs as often as not when she is talking to Lath. And she seems to like talking to Lath, especially to discuss her students. She just not remind Dirthamen very much of his own tutors. Her comments rarely seem to be critical in nature.

“-and so we’re on the fifth tomato plant for him, but I think he might actually get this one to live this time,” the woman says, a few mornings after Dirthamen first sees her, and Lath smiles and asks her another question, before topping off her coffee, and going to attend another table in the morning rush.

Dirthamen thinks about saying hello to this woman, sometimes.

He thinks about confirming that she is a teacher. Talking with her about her students. Asking how well she likes her job, and what school she teaches at. What grade. Elementary, he guesses. He thinks about asking if she would like to sit with him.

But then, he cannot imagine it going well. He supposes she might tolerate him, but he would probably say or do something strange or off-putting. Perhaps he would make her uncomfortable. Even if he did not, sooner or later, Falon’Din will be coming home from Orlais, and then Dirthamen imagines he will not have much time for things like diners and casual conversations. It would only, he supposes, be rude, to try and make friendly overtures, only to withdraw from them as soon as his brother is back to demanding most of his attention.

Still, though. It is a nice thing to imagine, he finds. Some mornings he comes to the diner early, and sits in the quiet, and Ess talks to him and he talks back. And some mornings he comes a little later, and tries not to feel the eyes of the breakfast regulars on him, as he sits in his booth and listens to the woman talking to Lath.

He learns her name after two weeks.

Selene.

Probably a modern arrangement of Sahlin, or Sethlen. He contemplates etymology and family history, and what he knows of Dalish culture. He listens to the slight lilt of a Marcher accent to her voice, and does not suppose she is native to Fereldan. He wonders how she came to be here, teaching children and sitting in diners.

He likes, he finds, all the little mysteries she poses. And the way her hands look, curled around the white porcelain of her coffee mug, as she sits with her elbows on the table and stares out of the diner window.

And then one morning, he does not think she is coming. He arrives after Ess’ shift, but Selene does not make an appearance. He eats his waffles and drinks and his coffee, and wonders if she has gone back to the Free Marches. It is the middle of the school year, though, so probably not. Perhaps she is feeling unwell? Or has simply gone somewhere else for breakfast. Or decided to skip it. Perhaps she never comes to the diner on Thursdays - this is the first later Thursday morning he has come, he realizes.

But he is paying his bill when the door to the diner opens, and Selene comes in. Her hair is more disarrayed than usual, and her shoulders are slumped. Dirthamen goes past her as he heads for the door. He catches an acrid scent, just faintly about her - like burnt flour.

“Just some coffee to go, please, Lath,” she asks, walking up to the counter. “I’ve had one doozy of a morning. I burnt the cookies for the bake sale, missed my bus, and my bike’s decided that now’s the perfect time to break.”

Lath makes a sympathetic noise, and gets Selene her coffee, and one of the apple muffins from the case, too.

Dirthamen listens, taking longer to leave then he ordinarily would.

“When’s the bake sale?” Lath asks, as Selene pays.

“Today, naturally. The kids are all bringing things, too, but I don’t know if we’ll have enough. The second graders were supposed to make cupcakes…”

Dirthamen leaves, then, and contemplates the matter. He has work today, of course. He has work every day. But there is nothing particularly time-sensitive he needs to address. He gets into his car, and uses his phone to look up elementary schools in the area. Only one is having a bake sale, as listed on the school website. It fits his expectations; it is a small, predominantly elven school, and the proceeds from the sale are intended to help bolster the school’s under-funded musical program, which is apparently at risk of cancellation.

He checks further, and finds that much of the school’s creative and arts programs are under heavy strain. District funding cuts have left them severely under-staffed, too, it seems. There is a button on the website that is labelled ‘help support us’. He follows the link there, but most of the page simply lists various other fund-raising events. In the end, he has to make a call to the school’s offices to figure out how to send a donation. But the charity reserve he keeps is quite healthy. More than enough to cover the costs of revitalizing the flagging programs. The school secretary he speaks to sounds a little breathless when he is finished.

“I will send some cookies for the bake sale,” he adds. There is a caterer in the city he knows who should be able to handle such things, even on short notice. 

“You’ve… already covered far more than we could have hoped to get from the sale,” the secretary informs him. He cannot tell if she is quiet because she is surprised, or if it is because she is alarmed.

“Children like cookies. They may have them, if they do not sell them,” he decides. “I will outsource a professional for this task. I cannot bake.”

The secretary laughs.

“Oh Maker,” she murmurs, he thinks. “That’s… that’s very kind. Thank you.”

“It is no trouble. Charitable contributions are an asset to the company’s financial standings,” he says, duly, and then bids her a farewell. He hangs up, and then calls the caterer. What kind of cookies do children like? Perhaps it would be best to leave that to the discretion of baking professionals. This order is simpler to make, though he wavers uncertainly when the question of how many cookies should be delivered arises. There are three classes participating in the bake sale, and each class has an average size of thirty students. If they do not sell the cookies, then ninety cookies means each student will get one. But if they sell some of them, then there will be an insufficient number leftover. Some children might be left without baked goods to enjoy.

It is not a good feeling, to be left out.

He orders four hundred cookies.

Then he makes his way to work, late but satisfied with the start to the days events. He has to spend several hours in discussion with some of the various lawyers attached to the family’s companies, and his mother calls at noon to ask him to head out to Crestwood to check on one of the head offices there. She is deeply suspicious of embezzlement from one of the other accountants in their employ. Dirthamen goes, driving overnight, and discovers many things that are out of the ordinary. He makes a note of them, but he thinks the accountant in question is actually diverting funds for one of their under-the-table operations, so he has to check the Books That Do Not Technically Exist if Anyone Asks on that.

It takes a few days. By the time he gets back to Denerim, the bake sale is long finished.

He heads to the diner for an early breakfast, which is actually a very late dinner, when he is in the city once more. Ess asks him about where he went and consoles him over the long, tired drive. Dirthamen would prefer to fly, but Crestwood does not have an airport. He is only glad that he does not have to live there instead of Denerim. The place strikes him as very sad.

And muddy.

Ess tells him to go home and sleep once he has finished his breakfast plate, which sounds like a wise idea. He checks his mail first, though, and is surprised to find his box full. Most of his business correspondence goes to the company’s postal address. He wonders if there has been some sort of mix up. One of his neighbours even makes a point of berating him over ‘cluttering’ the delivery slot, and he finds more letters there. They are all addressed to him, at least.

He borrows an empty box from the building’s front desk, and fills it up with them, and takes them upstairs. Opening the first envelope yields a piece of colourful green construction paper, folded in half. In dark blue marker, someone has written ‘THANK YOU’ on it in all capital letters. Glitter in multiple colours has been glued in a vague approximation of a rainbow underneath.

Opening up the card reveals more writing on the inside. The capitalization is less consistent, there.

‘Thank you Mr. Evanuris for the cookies and the drama costumes’ it says. Then it is signed ‘Ella, age 8′ at the bottom.

Opening further letters reveals that their contents are of a similar theme. There is a lot of colourful paper, and well-wishes, and glittery rainbows, and hearts, and stars. Dirthamen does not know what to do with it all. He supposes that he was the one who made the donation, but technically it was from the charity funds allocated to the family as a whole. He is typically in charge of such things, after all. He should have probably been clearer while discussing the donations.

But still. It is… not at all unpleasant.

On balance, most of the cards are addressed to a ‘Mr. Evanuris’. So he packs those up, and forwards them to his father. Elgar’nan likes children, and will be pleased, he thinks, with the direction of this year’s charitable funds if he observes positive feedback from them. 

Some of the letters mention Dirthamen’s first name, though, and those are the ones he keeps. They are made of somewhat flimsy material. He takes them in to the office with them, and has them laminated, and set up on the wall by his desk. He never much cared for the painting that used to hang on that wall anyway. It is a good excuse to get rid of it.

The wall looks much more colourful now.

The next morning he wakes up at four a.m. to his father phoning him from Par Vollen to yell cheerfully about school charities. Dirthamen manages to gather, from the conversation, that the man would like to have more grateful letters from children, and would like Dirthamen to figure out how to allocate further charitable funds towards that end. He agrees to, pleased with the success of his venture, but not with the headache he wakes up with. Or the back ache. A long shower takes the worst of the edge off of it. When the hour is more appropriate, he begins investigating other school districts in the area.

He goes to breakfast a bit later rather than earlier, and thinks of asking Selene about such things. It is a pleasant daydream.

The diner is quieter than usual, when he turns up. Only a few regulars are there. Lath greets him cheerfully, and informs him of the specials, and while that is happening, Selene arrives. He carries on with his daydream as he eats, and watches her from the corner of his eye. Admiring the contrast of her hands around her pale coffee mug, again.

Despite arriving later, Selene finishes her meal more swiftly. She stands and pays, and passes by his table.

And then she pauses.

Dirthamen blinks up, as he realizes that it is not just his perception of things skewing, and that she is actually standing next to his seat. She looks like she is considering something. Her hold on her purse is tighter than usual, and her stare is very sharp. Though, he thinks that has more to do with the general arrangement of her facial features than anything.

“This might sound strange,” she finally says. “But, well. You seem to come here often, and you always eat alone. And I come here often, and I eat alone, too. And I was just wondering, if perhaps you would be interested in having coffee with me sometime. Here. Or, not here, if you prefer. But it seems like it would be convenient.”

He hesitates, taken aback by this unexpected turn of events. He had not realized that Selene had marked his presence in the diner. If he had ever supposed she might, he would have assumed it would make her uncomfortable in some way.

Selene clears her throat, and looks away from him, slightly.

“If you’re interested,” she reiterates.

“Yes. Thank you,” he decides. Because he is, come to it. And while he supposes it would have been discourteous to initiate anything, perhaps it would also be discourteous to decline. Under the circumstances.

It would certainly be untrue of him to imply  _dis_ interest in the prospect.

The woman smiles at him. Though she still seems uncertain.

“I’m Selene, in that case,” she offers, extending a hand towards him.

Dirthamen accepts it.

“I am Dirthamen,” he replies.

“Oh. That’s funny!” she says. “That’s the same name as one of those fancy upper-crust elves who made a donation to my school recently.”

Dirthamen wonders how he should respond to that. Before he can decide, though, Selene lets go of his hand, and waves the matter off. “I bet you get that all the time, though. There was an actress named Selene when I was a child. I should know better than to bring something like that up, it can be very irritating,” she muses.

“I do not mind,” he says.

This merits a smile, it seems.

“Good. So. Are you coming here tomorrow? We could… have coffee, then?” she asks him.

“Yes,” he decides. He can come later in the morning tomorrow, too. That is no trouble. “I will buy you coffee tomorrow. And breakfast.”

The smile widens.

“We can split the bill,” Selene assures him.

“If you prefer,” he agrees. 

With a nod, the woman turns and heads towards the door, then. She pauses halfway, and looks almost like she might turn back. But then she keeps going, and only looks towards him again when she is actually exiting the diner. She raises her hand, then, offering him a half-wave. He returns it with a nod, and watches her make her way out into the parking lot.

When she gets to her bike, she smacks a hand to her forehead, and looks like she is saying something to herself. But she is smiling, too, as she settles her bag onto the large front basket, and sets off down the street.

Lath comes over to ask if he wants more coffee, and winks at him.

“Romantic,” Lath opines.

“What is?” Dirthamen wonders.

The server sighs.

“Just a little bit hopeless. But still. Romantic.”

He is not certain that it is.

But he is very much looking forward to his breakfast tomorrow morning.


	2. Chapter 2

Dirthamen debates over his appearance in the morning, before his breakfast with Selene.

It is important to look ‘special’ for dates, he knows. He has never quite grasped the subtleties of what would be appropriate for that, though. There is a difference, he thinks, between romantic dates and platonic dates, but he is not entirely certain which category this breakfast falls into. It is in the diner which they both tend to frequent, and likely they will order to their usual preferences. The only break in routine is that they will be sitting at the same table for it.

Dirthamen contemplates the matter further, in his apartment bathroom, staring at his reflection. Then he lifts his comb, and carefully parts his hair on the opposite side from usual. 

There.

A slight change, that could denote a larger difference.

He wears his purple shirt. Sylaise approved of it once, so it seems likely that he looks acceptable in it. He gathers up his work bag and laptop, and his phone, and smooths a hand over his tie before heading down to his car.

He arrives at the diner first, and procures one of the larger tables from Lath. It is more exposed than his usual booth, but Selene might have more tomato plants or poster paper or any number of things for her class, so the extra space might be required. While he is waiting for her to arrive, his phone vibrates in his coat pocket.

He pulls it out. Falon’Din is calling him.

From his own phone. Not the clinic’s.

That does not bode well. Dirthamen answers.

“Where the fuck are you?” Falon’Din asks.

“I am in a restaurant awaiting food service,” he replies. 

This heralds a stream of invectives, for some reason. He waits patiently throughout it, and glances up when the diner door opens. Selene walks in. She is wearing a very flattering blue shirt, that is almost the same shade as the clear sky outside.

“I sent you three fucking e-mails,” Falon’Din tells him. “They let me out early. I’m at the damn airport, waiting for  _you.”_

“I did not receive any e-mails from you,” Dirthamen replies. He would know if he had, his phone alerts him to such things. Unless Falon’Din had utilized an older address. Sometimes he does that. He is not good at updating his records, and Dirthamen has not had much opportunity to do it on his behalf lately, with so many legal matters to attend to.

“Well I fucking well sent them, so you should  _be here,”_  his brother insists.

“Why did the clinic release you?” he wonders.

Selene has reached their table by then. Her smile falters, somewhat, at his words. He ducks his head apologetically, and motions at her to sit. She seems hesitant, at first, but after a moment, slides into the chair across from him.

“Elgar’nan let up,” Falon’Din tells him. “Now get over here and pick me up, shithead. I’m in the Denerim airport. It’s cramped, it smells like a fucking toilet, and there’s some qunari fucker who keeps giving me side-eye. I’ve just been through hell on earth at that ‘clinic’, and I’m just about at the end of it. You hear me? I’ve been putting up with all this crap I don’t deserve and I’m not putting up with it anymore.”

Dirthamen considers this. He does not want to go and get Falon’Din. He wants to stay and have breakfast with Selene. But his brother is his responsibility, and he requires conveyance to his apartment, and will likely not behave himself if Dirthamen attempts to entrust this task to a hired professional instead of seeing to it personally.

“Have you eaten?” he asks.

“No. I’m starving, actually,” Falon’Din tells him. “You gonna bring me some fucking food, too, then?”

“There are several restaurants in the airport,” Dirthamen replies. “You should eat. I will come and collect you as soon as I am done here.”

“What, do you have some bullshit meeting with a bunch of dick accounting nerds like some kind of pathetic breakfast club?” his brother wonders. “Shit. Fine. Fuck you too, anyway.”

Falon’Din hangs up.

Dirthamen follows suit, and then looks across the table to Selene.

“I apologize. I may have to hurry somewhat,” he says. It is strange. He knows it is not technically possible, and yet, some part of him feels almost as if Falon’Din must have done this on purpose. His brother has never cared much for the idea of him socializing. It is true that he is not… gifted, at it. But over the years he has come to suspect that his brother’s aversion towards sharing things extends not only to material objects, but to relationships as well.

“That sounded… loud,” Selene notes, with a small frown. “Was someone yelling at you?”

“My brother can be very noisy,” he confirms.

His breakfast date offers him a tentative smile.

“If there’s some kind of an emergency, I won’t hold it against you,” she tells him.

“It is not an emergency,” Dirthamen assures her. Though more of those will likely occur, if his father has let Falon’Din quit his rehabilitation efforts before they are complete. Again. He will have to be more discreet in attempting to dispose of any unacceptable items for the next little while. His brother’s apartment has been cleaned out, but he will probably attempt to resupply it. The last time he caught Dirthamen disposing of illegal medications and alcohol, he was extremely unhappy.

“Well,” Selene decides. “At least that’s not how your boss talks to you. I hope.”

Dirthamen’s mother does not yell very often, that is true.

He inclines his head in acknowledgement.

“Do you have work today?” Selene wonders. 

“Yes,” he confirms. It is Saturday, though. “Do you not?”

“A little. I have some projects for the kids to check on and some assignments to grade, and there’s a meeting with the other teachers at lunch. But then I’m off the hook until Monday,” she tells him. She looks satisfied with that, as Lath comes and brings them coffee, and takes their usual orders.

“I guess it’s a little obvious that I’m a teacher,” Selene says. “I’ll try not to talk your ear off about my students. But what do you do?”

“I am an accountant,” Dirthamen informs her.

“Another math lover!” she commends, which is not the usual reaction. Dirthamen has received more condolences on his career choice than any other aspect of his life. 

“You enjoy mathematics?” he asks.

“I used to teach it exclusively,” Selene tells him. “But then there was that huge fire in the school district down here, and. Well. They needed teachers with good fire safety training, afterwards. I have a slight talent for that sort of thing, so I was perfect for the job.” She shrugs, somewhat self-consciously, and Dirthamen wonders if she means she has attended several fire safety courses, or if she is implying magical talent.

“Are you a mage?” he asks.

She laughs.

“Don’t beat around the bush, do you?”

“I did not mean to be tactless. I am a mage myself,” he asserts, and her eyes widen slightly.

“Oh! That’s… a pleasant surprise. I guess I won’t have to worry about you looking twice at me, then. Yes. I’m a mage,” she confirms. 

Dirthamen tilts his head.

“Do you get much trouble for it?” he wonders. Ostensibly, bigotry against mages in countries like Fereldan and Orlais is a thing of the past. But he knows that there are some lingering prejudices, especially in places where the chantry holds continued prominence. Anti-mage legislation still gets passed, from time to time. It has more of an impact on those who are not of means. Who cannot buy their way around the rules.

“Not too much,” Selene tells him. “Some of the parents are touchier about it than others. There are usually a few kids transferred out of my class at the beginning of every year, but that’s the worst of it.”

She seems hurt by the concept of being mistrusted around people’s children.

Dirthamen supposes that is understandable.

He attempts to turn the subject towards the weather, which makes Selene smile, and ask him more questions about his job. These are easy enough to answer. He skirts around delicate subject matters, but there is no real need for them to come up.

“So you work in one of the big buildings downtown, then?” Selene gathers, as Lath brings them their order.

“Yes,” Dirthamen confirms. “This branch of the company technically holds its head office in Crestwood, but that is largely for regional taxation purposes. Most of what I need to do can be done from here.”

“Lots of back-and-forth?” she asks.

“I travel often,” he admits.

“I have some clan up in the Free Marches. Haven’t been to visit in a long while, though,” Selene replies. 

The rest of breakfast is filled with similar such idle chatter. Dirthamen finds himself pausing, often, to consider how to answer her questions, and hoping is not coming across negatively. His dining companion offers no criticisms, however, and does not attempt to hasten him, or expression impatience. Only moderate surprise, at some of the things he says, and interest, too.

It is… easy.

Easy to talk with her.

The longer he does it, the less he feels like he is participating in a test which he might fail.

But then his phone rings again. His brother, once more.

“I think I will have to go,” he admits. “Permit me to cover the bill?”

“I thought we were splitting it?” Selene counters, but she waves for Lath, and she does not seem offended.

Dirthamen relents, and swiftly counts up his segment of the bill, and leaves even when he would prefer to stay. That is life, though, and there is something pleasant in having a situation he would prefer to linger in. Something nice enough to feel that it is over too soon, when it is done.

He waits until he is in his car to call his brother back.

The volume of Falon’Din’s voice would be alarming, coming from anyone else. Under the circumstances, though, Dirthamen only waits for him to finish shouting, and then assures him he is coming to get him now. He attempts to inquire after his brother’s morning meal, but Falon’Din hangs up then.

It is probably un-brotherly to wish that he was still in Orlais.


	3. Chapter 3

Dirthamen knows there are many reasons he should stop going to the diner, once Falon’Din is in Denerim again.

And for a few days, he does not. He drives his brother to his apartment, and helps get him settled in it. He is late for work because Falon’Din’s fridge is empty, and he requires groceries, and Dirthamen doubts he will purchase anything other than alcohol and cigarettes if left to his own devices. But he will eat whatever is in his fridge so long as it is at hand. So he goes to the store, and buys fruit and vegetables, milk and juice, and food that can be easily picked up and eaten cold from its package.

Falon’Din is lying on his couch when he gets back.

“What the fuck was so important this morning anyway, that you had to leave me in that pit?” he asks. There are shadows under his eyes, and his voice is somewhat hoarse. Probably from excessive shouting.

Dirthamen contemplates his answer for a moment.

“I have responsibilities other than you,” he says, which is true. Irrelevant. But true. And it leads Falon’Din’s mind towards thinking that these responsibilities are work-related, because those are the only matters that have ever drawn Dirthamen away from his brother before.

Falon’Din grunts, and scowls at him, but accepts a glass of orange juice when Dirthamen brings it to him.

“Fuck off, then,” he mutters.

Dirthamen takes his cue, and leaves. He heads in to work, and stays late to make up the differences in his hours. His phone rings several times throughout the day. Falon’Din wants to know if he can stay at Dirthamen’s apartment instead. Wants to know if Dirthamen has heard from this or that other friend of his brother’s - he hasn’t, he never has, but Falon’Din still asks. Wants confirmation that his brother understands, that everyone that has gone wrong is not his fault.

Dirthamen tells him to stay in his own apartment, and tells him to try calling some of his friends, and assures him that he knows. He spends an evening listening to his brother yell about the clinic and their father, and then about Glory.

“I gave them everything,” Falon’Din says. “Everything. You know I never would have killed them. You know it.”

“I do,” Dirthamen says. He is rather more convinced that Glory took matters into their own hands. But he does not say this. Falon’Din believes that someone stole his prize from him, because that is the answer which suits him best, and Dirthamen has no cause to refute it. All that he could say would only make things worse. 

His brother is exceptionally demanding for a few days, but that is to be expected. Dirthamen dutifully forgoes his own enjoyments to ferry him from one place or another, to check his apartment, to listen to his complaints and speculations and laments. He helps him rent a place to practice his music, to keep him from upsetting his neighbours again. Helps him search for a job, and finds several, but Falon’Din turns them all down. He does not like the hours, does not like the tasks, does not like the dearth of attractive people in the offices.

“We should start our own company,” his brother muses. “I bet you could skim enough off the top for a few years, we’d be set to really branch off and make a name for ourselves.”

“I do not embezzle,” Dirthamen reminds him.

“Bullshit. You do illegal fucking shit all the time,” Falon’Din replies.

“Yes. But I do not embezzle,” he insists. He does not commit crimes for his own sake. For the company’s, yes. Because their parents had committed to such acts and tactics long before Dirthamen was born, and their money has paid for his education, for his welfare, and upbringing. He loves his mother and does not wish to betray her. Though there are times when he thinks it might not be so bad, for the family to lose all of their assets and be forced to live with less power and influence. 

There are times, too, when he thinks of branching out. But it is impractical. He would be pulled back, and besides which, if he were to make such a venture, he can only think Falon’Din would be more liability than boon. His brother does not know how to make money. He does not understand how to spend responsibly. He lacks applicable skills, and despite his insistence to the contrary, Dirthamen does not really think he is an ‘ideas man’.

“Mom’s still got that leash on you pretty tight, huh?” Falon’Din muses.

“Perhaps,” he allows.

After the first night his brother does not call him at three in the morning, though, Dirthamen wakes up, and after some careful contemplation, he goes back to the diner. Lath is happy to see him. He sits at his usual table, and is considering a change to his order when the door opens again.

He hears Selene’s footfalls before he sees her. He looks up, and misjudges the distance, and nearly looks right past her as she comes up to his table.

She stops.

Hesitates.

“Hello,” she says, after a moment.

She is wearing blue again today. It looks very nice on her. Her hair is tied back, and her shoulders are straight. Dirthamen thinks of marble statuary, of angels and priestesses with their faces upturned towards the moonlight. That is not what Selene is, of course, but she would make a suitable model for such things, he suspects.

“Hello,” he replies. “…Would you like to join me?”

Some rigidity in her eases, and she smiles.

“Only if you don’t mind.”

“I do not. I enjoyed our last breakfast,” Dirthamen replies, and is gratified when she slides into the table across from him. Is happy that she approached. She has several colourful folders with her today, but they fit easily onto the smaller bench next to her. When she sees him looking at them, she lifts them up to show him.

“We’re doing a unit on the solar system,” she says. “Everyone’s going to be making a planet out of coloured paper, so I brought some extra. We always run out.”

Dirthamen makes a mental note of that. Art supplies. More art supplies.

Selene explains a bit more about the class project, until Lath comes to take their orders. Then she laughs somewhat self-consciously. One of her hands comes up to check the back of her ponytail, and she clears her throat.

“I realized, after our last… well, I realized I didn’t even get your number,” she says.

Dirthamen blinks.

He did not consider that she might want it.

Somehow, he had failed to think of this as anything which might leave the confines of the diner. Almost as if he had started coming into another world when he visited this place, even though that is obviously not the case. But still. He supposes that in most cases, an exchange of contact information would probably have been the first step.

He pulls out his phone, and Selene blinks and then reaches over to get her own as he rattles off his number, and accepts hers in return.

“I promise, I won’t blow up your texts or anything,” she says. Her cheeks darken, a little. It is a somewhat incongruous look on her, with the natural sternness of her features. But Dirthamen finds it appealing, too.

“You may send me messages whenever you care to,” he assures her.

It merits another smile.

He will come back again, he thinks. Perhaps he ought not to. But if it goes badly, he knows how to handle his brother, to an extent. And perhaps it might not go badly. Perhaps his world need not revolve around numbers and failure and Falon’Din’s presence or absence, as if he is a tide being swung this way and that by an inconstant moon.

He manages to pay the whole bill this time, too.


	4. Chapter 4

Three days after their second breakfast date, Dirthamen gets a text from Selene.

It says ‘do you like hot dogs?’

Dirthamen ponders this question a moment. He does not, he thinks. Or at least, he has never found them especially appealing. He has had them only on a limited number of occasions, however – twice when he was younger, and his father made some attempts at ‘bonding’ with himself and Falon’Din by taking them to local sporting event venues, and once when he was attending university. He did not find them objectionable, at the very least.

‘I have no strong sentiments with regards to hot dogs’, he texts back.

There is a brief pause with no response, and he supposes that has satisfied her interest in the subject, or whatever inspired the question to begin with. He turns back towards his work. A few moments later, however, his phone shivers to announce another text.

It is Selene again.

‘Do you like burgers? I know a park with a stand that sells really good burgers and hot dogs’, she says.

Dirthamen’s feelings on burgers are, in fact, somewhat more negative than his sentiments towards hot dogs. Falon’Din has always been rather fond of the dish – particularly, he thinks, because their parents had derided such ‘trash’ food – and the vast majority of burgers which Dirthamen has dealt with have been vomited onto him.

He hesitates to mention this to Selene, though.

‘They make little donuts too’, Selene adds.

Dirthamen likes donuts.

He settles on this as a reply, and after a moment’s sincere contemplation, adds a smiley face to the text in hopes that it will deflate the risk of his words being misconstrued as sarcasm. When his phone shivers again, he wonders what foodstuffs will be discussed next, and if he has successfully evaded the burger question.

‘Great! Maybe we could meet there for a date?’ Selene’s newest text reads.

Dirthamen blinks, and feels a pleasant warmth suffuse him at the unexpected invitation.

‘Not that it would have to be a date,’ Selene adds.

‘We could just meet as friends. It’s a nice park.’

‘The vhenadahl is in it. A lot of the local elves have birthday parties there, it’s probably the nicest park in the city.’

‘Do you like parks? I just remembered that it’s allergy season.’

‘Though you probably have medications for that. If you have allergies. Since I’ve never seen you show up at the diner all red and puffy.’

‘Not that I’m suggesting you drug yourself up at a park with me.’

‘Why can’t I delete texts after I send them?’

Dirthamen reads over the questions, and carefully taps out his response.

‘I would like to go to the park with you. The only allergies I suffer from involve animal dander. I believe it is impossible to delete texts that have been sent for a variety of reasons, both technical and ethical.’ He reads the text over, once, before he deems it acceptable, and sends it. He does not care to imagine what someone like his mother or brother would do with the ability to send people messages and then erase them as if they never had to begin with.

‘Great!’ Selene texts back.

Then there is another prolonged silence, in which Dirthamen wonders if she has a specific date or time for their meeting in mind. Finally he asks – offering a suggestion of the weekend – and gets a positive response.

‘Saturday works! I’ll meet you there.’

He smiles.


	5. Chapter 5

‘I did not know that ostriches could roar,’ Dirthamen admits, texting carefully as he makes his way into his apartment. A quick inspections of the place reveals that Falon’Din is likely there. There are scuff marks by the door, and he can hear the familiar drone of Falon’Din’s first and last television interview playing from the living room.

His phone whispers again.

‘Neither did I, I had to google it to make sure Lyn wasn’t just making up facts for her homework’, Selene replies.

There is a crash that sounds like a small table being upended.

‘I must attend to some thing, I will talk to you again tomorrow if you like’, Dirthamen taps out, before pocketing his phone, and going to investigate.


	6. Chapter 6

Dirthamen did not specify the venue for his third official outing with Selene, he realizes, when he goes to pick her up and actually sees her.

He stares, for a moment.

Selene stands hesitantly on the sidewalk, in a yellow dress that is much smaller and much more designer-looking than the vast majority of attire he has seen her in so far. There was one morning, prior to their breakfast together, when she had come in wearing a very nice blouse and slacks. An important parent-teacher conference, she had told Lath. But even that had not looked quite like this.

Dirthamen considers. His own suit is… acceptable. He is wearing one of his nicer dress shirts, at the least. He had planned on taking Selene to the botanical gardens near the city’s centre, for a showing of several of the night-blooming flowers that are new to the attraction. But the shoes she is wearing look like they would be very uncomfortable for walking long distances in, and the clutch purse she is carrying is too small to hold a water bottle or snacks.

Selene dithers beside the passenger side window a moment, looking very uncomfortable.

“Should I change?” she finally blurts. “I think I’ll go change. I’m sorry. Where are we even going? If it’s just to the diner I can put on some jeans instead…”

Dirthamen reaches over and opens the door for her.

“No, it is acceptable,” he decides. She looks very nice. The yellow brings out the warmth in her skin, and the sight is easily as the aesthetically appealing as the flowers would be. He has not made reservations to any suitable restaurants, but there is a  _Wild Witch_  in downtown that he knows will seat him simply for being who he is.

He sends a message ahead to them anyway, as a courtesy.

Selene is quiet as he begins to drive down the road. She still looks uncomfortable. Dirthamen glances at her, and wonders if the outfit is the cause. Perhaps he should have let her change, in that case.

Although… there is usually a protocol to these things, is there not?

“You look very nice,” he tells her. Very tall, and her legs are as nice uncovered as they are fully clothed.

Selene jumps, a bit, as if she had almost forgotten that he was there. But after a moment, she smiles. And a moment after that, her fidgeting reduces significantly, and the tight line of her shoulders eases somewhat.

“So how was your day?” she asks him. “Any interesting accounting stories?”

He considers.

“I discovered an embezzler,” he admits. Not one of the family’s. An employee in one of the side businesses.

Selene double-takes.

“What, really?”

“Yes,” he confirms. “The man has manufactured an ‘employee training program’ that, upon examination of employee records and investigations with several supposed trainers and attendees, does not exist. It was sloppily done. I was not even investigating that branch of the company’s assets for embezzlement, and I still found it fairly easily.”

A training program was a poor choice of front. Too many people would be involved and know the details of such a venture, and that meant too many people would be able to refute it as well. 

Selene seems to find the whole prospect rather more intriguing than not, though, and so they find their topic of conversation for the rest of the drive downtown. Dirthamen finds himself explaining the numerical discrepancies he tends to notice in cases like these, and for once, his audience’s gaze does not seem to glaze over in the midst of it.

They are still talking when he pulls up to the valet parking, and it is only when they must get out that Selene’s discomfort seems to return.

Dirthamen goes to help her out of the passenger side - those shoes are still concerning - and she stares at the restaurant.

“This is the  _Wild Witch,”_  she says, clearly taken aback. “Dirthamen, this is one of the most expensive restaurants in the city.”

“Eleventh most,” he replies. “There are many more with higher prices, and less edible cuisine.” 

Selene continues to stare, but they must move to allow the valet to pull out, so Dirthamen gently pulls her forwards. This gets her moving - albeit with the stiff line to her posture back in full force. After a few steps, she lets out a high, slightly breathless laugh.

“I guess it’s a good thing I wore this dress, then,” she says. “Don’t places like these normally need reservations about, oh, ten years in advance?”

“That is an exaggeration,” Dirthamen assures her. Most of the reservations are a month in advance, if that. Though, obviously, the restaurant will take them even before then, particularly in the case of special events.

Selene’s grip on his elbow grows surprisingly tight as they make their way through the glassy entrance, and in the front waiting area. The restaurant has a secluded, private feel to it, despite the grandeur of the exterior facade. It is intimately lit, with long, tall dividers separating various tables. The wood is patterned to look like woven tree branches.

Their wait is, of course, negligible. The host smiles and leads them at once to a small table for two, near to one of the side windows. They pass several other diners on their way. A few double-take at Selene’s vallaslin, though at least in this restaurant, none balk at pointed ears in general.

Once they have been seated, with the specials read out and the wine list provided, Selene lets out another breathy little laugh.

“This place is…  _really_  fancy,” she asserts. 

Dirthamen nods in acknowledgement.

Her fingers tap against the top of the table, and she picks up the menu and opens it.

Almost immediately, she puts it back down again.

“Dirthamen,” she says, voice low. “There is - have you looked at the prices here?”

He blinks, and then wonders if this is the source of her concern. They often split the cost of their various meals. Dirthamen does not know the specifics of Selene’s bank account or pay rate, but he knows the general figures of grade school teachers in Denerim’s more impoverished districts. 

“It is my treat,” he says. “Do not worry. Order whatever you like.”

Selene frowns, and then shifts in her seat. She looks at the menu dubiously, and then at the restaurant around them both, before leaning in closer.

“Okay, I know you make more than I do. But do you actually  _know_  what the prices here are? You know you don’t have to spend your savings or something on me, right?” she asks, her brow furrowing at him.

“I can afford it,” he assures her. But considering her reaction… “We will not make a habit of coming here.”

Selene regards him for another moment, and then turns her gaze back towards the menu. Her cheeks darken, slightly.

“Oh,” she says.

Then at last, she picks up the menu and actually looks at the pertinent details listed upon it. Dirthamen does not need to look at the menu - nor the wine list, in truth - but he examines them anyway. Some things may have changed since he last patronised this place, and it seems to make Selene relax even more when she can be certain that he is looking at the price points with his own eyes.

When their server returns, Dirthamen announces his wine selection - a versatile red - and orders the duck confit. Selene requests the shrimp bisque, which he recalls as the cheapest dish listed. He wonders if she is worried that he will change his mind with regards to their bill.

The bisque is not terribly filling. It is a light dish, he recalls. Usually used in a course with several others.

Perhaps she is like Andruil, though, he thinks. Perhaps she prefers to hardly eat at such establishments, and to acquire food at other venues once the ‘dining experience’ has been had. He makes a mental note to see if she would like to pick up something on the way home. It will be later, by then, but there is the diner, and a donut shop he knows is open at all hours.

Silence spreads between them. It is somewhat unlike the type that can crop up at the diner, which seems comfortable and unpresumptuous. Selene’s lingering tension is obvious, and Dirthamen finds himself at a loss as to how to alleviate it.

He is debating another compliment when she finally lets out a breath, shakes her head, and then smiles.

“I’m being silly, I know,” she says. “This is very nice. I should probably spend more time appreciating it than worrying about it.”

Dirthamen blinks.

“If you dislike the experience, we do not have to stay,” he assures her.

“No, no. That would be a waste,” Selene tells him.

The meal is awkward, though. He can tell that it is. Selene attempts to smile and insists that her bisque is very good, but her eyes flit about, frequently, and the tension in her shoulders does not abate. Dirthamen does not ask if she would like to order desert. His own duck confit is well prepared, but it is a familiar dish to him, and the atmosphere is much more distracting. 

It is a palpable relief to leave the restaurant.

“Thank you,” Selene says.

Dirthamen does not know why. He suspects things would have fared better at the botanical gardens. He has misjudged, again, and done poorly at socializing. 

“I am sorry,” he says. “Would you like to go and get some donuts?”

Selene blinks at him, clearly taken aback.

“Wha…?” she begins.

The abrupt, loud rumbling of her own stomach interrupts her, however.

Whatever inquiry she was about to make dies, as Dirthamen drives them optimistically towards the turn-off that will lead to the donut shop. When he can safely spare his attention from driving long enough to glance at Selene, she is softly thudding her head against the passenger side window.

“It does not have to be donuts,” he tells her. 

She lets out a long breath.

“Donuts sound  _wonderful_ ,” she says, however.

Perhaps the evening is salvageable after all.


	7. Chapter 7

A week after Dirthamen’s third donation in under a year to the school district which Selene works in, the two of them are having lunch. 

Selene had suggested they have ice-cream, though in fact they are having frozen yoghurt, served from a small shop that is wedged between a hardware store and a vacuum repair office in a little complex near to her home. Dirthamen is not certain the frozen yoghurt meets adequate nutritional requirements to qualify as a meal.

“Get extra fruit on top,” Selene tells him, solemnly. “It counts if you get extra fruit. But don’t tell my students I said that.”

They end up eating their frozen yoghurts on a set of small benches in the complex parking lot, talking about a variety of subjects as Dirthamen fields the occasional text from his mother and brother – who are at odds with one another over Falon’Din’s immediate plans – and Selene breaks off partway through to take a call from work.

When she is finished with that, the conversation turns, by natural course, to the subject of her job. They do not speak quite so often about Dirthamen’s work, but that is only to be expected. His job is simultaneously less interesting, and more secretive.

“All these donations have been helping so much,” she says. “The kids actually have  _instruments_  now. There are supplies in the art rooms, there are costumes for the plays – it’s been remarkable.”

Dirthamen is pleased. The school he attended suffered from no dearth of funding. It does not seem correct to him that it should be so different for other children. He smiles, slightly, and Selene smiles back. But there is an oddness to her gaze that he cannot quite place. She fiddles with her plastic spoon, and then shifts a bit on the bench.

“Of course, what we could still use is a piano,” Selene muses.

He blinks.

“I thought you received funding for instruments?” he says.

“Well, yes,” she agrees, and the spoon taps at the bottom of her cup. “It’s… probably just silly of me. It’s just that the practical thing to do is to get instruments that are smaller, that the students can carry and play individually. A piano’s pretty big, and only one or two people can use it at a time. So the instrument donation went to things like flutes and clarinettes and guitars. Most of our students haven’t even  _seen_  a piano, though. I think it would really excite them to get something like that.”

Dirthamen considers this, as Selene shrugs and smiles at him, and eats another spoonful of frozen yoghurt. A stray droplet of it sticks to the corner of her mouth. He hesitates, for a moment. But they have been becoming… comfortable with one another, of late. And so it is only a moment, before he lifts up one of the paper napkins and carefully brushes it against the edge of her smile. Beneath the beautiful curvature of her cheek.

Selene blinks rapidly, and then swallows.

“You had-”

“Can I kiss you?” she asks.

Dirthamen pauses, startled, and drops the napkin he had been holding. Selene looks nearly as surprised, but after a wavering moment, says nothing further. The colour in her cheeks darkens, and she sets her almost-empty frozen yoghurt container onto the table beside her.

As it seems she is not inclined to retract her request, Dirthamen gives it due consideration. Falon’Din once dared a girl to kiss him in grade school. The girl, Dirthamen knows, was held to be particularly undesirable by the standards of their classmates. The encounter had been disappointing to their spectators, however, as Dirthamen had not found the experience repugnant; and the girl had only seemed relieved when he responded to her overture without excessive criticism or disgust.

He is curious, he supposes. And interested. His gaze drifts to Selene’s mouth.

“Yes,” he decides. “You may.”

For a moment, then, neither of them move. Permission has been granted, but it seems some further contemplation is required.

Dirthamen focuses most of his own upon Selene’s mouth.

It is a very nice mouth, he thinks. There is a little dip in the top bow of her upper lip that is very finely sculpted, but overall, it is one of the softest features on her face. After a few moments he moves his gaze upwards, to the first meticulous line of her vallaslin.

That is when she moves.

Not to kiss him straight away, though. One of her hands comes up to his cheek, and she brushes her touch carefully across it, staring at him with a very intent look. Then it goes quickly. Dirthamen blinks, and she is incredibly close. He can feel her breath on his mouth, and could the individual strands of her eyebrows, if he felt so inclined; though somehow he is rather distracted from such possibilities. Selene’s lips are as soft as he supposed. Warm, and a little dry.

He blinks again, and they are gone.

Selene ducks her head, not quite looking at him. He wonders if he did something wrong, for her to withdraw so abruptly. Perhaps he should have closed his eyes? He makes a mental note to recall that in future. If it ever becomes relevant again, of course.

“Thank you,” he says, into the awkward silence.

Selene laughs, the tiniest bit. Nervously, he thinks. But when she finally looks at him once more, she smiles.

“Maybe we could try it again sometime,” she suggests.

“Yes. We could,” Dirthamen agrees. 


	8. Chapter 8

Dirthamen owns a piano.

He attended many lessons, when he was younger. His piano instructor was very kind, and Falon’Din disliked her so intensely that he stopped attending after only two lessons. It was a novel experience for Dirthamen, to find himself preferred over his brother back then. Now, it is not quite so uncommon. But the piano lessons were a pleasant preoccupation, and one which his parents approved of, and were considered an acceptable pastime.

It has been many years since he played, though. The piano he owns sits in the family house in Crestwood, maintained but largely ornamental at this point. He thinks it would do more good in the service of people inclined to take inspiration from it, however, and so he has it packed up and carefully moved, and donated to Selene’s school.

Anonymously, this time. There is a chance - however slim - that his brother might take some unexpected interest in learning to play again, and ask after it. To that end he disguises the paper trail well enough that he knows Falon’Din won’t be able to follow it, and leaves it at that.

Or so he thinks.

But the next morning when Selene waves him over to her table at the diner, she seems exceptionally nervous. She fidgets, and forgets her order partway through, and looks away from his stare more often than not. It is an unease that does not suit her, he thinks. It makes he scrunch up the lengthiness of her frame until it seems almost painful, and casts her features in an almost-hunted length of shadow.

“…Someone donated a piano to my school,” Selene states.

Dirthamen blinks, and waits for more.

When nothing further seems to be forthcoming, though, he considers why she would mention as much, and then nods.

“I know,” he confirms.

Selene lets out a breath.

“It  _was_  you,” she says.

“Yes. I used to play when I was younger, but it has not been used for quite some time. I hope the children enjoy it,” he explains.

This response earns him a somewhat breathless laugh, and Selene shakes her head.

“That’s why it was anonymous, I’m guessing? You know, it’s funny, but for a moment I was almost… well. I mean. You  have the same name as the guy who keeps donating things to the school district,” she explains, fidgeting a little with her napkin. Lath is watching them with some interest from the diner’s counter. It is a slow morning.

After a few seconds, Selene shrugs, and looks at him with a smile.

“It seemed so convenient, I was starting to wonder if it wasn’t  _you._  But that’s silly. You’re not a billionaire.”

“No I am not,” Dirthamen agrees. He is a millionaire. He does not hold enough of his family’s assets to qualify as a billionaire on his own. Nor would he want to. Though he could, he supposes, certainly change that situation with relative ease.

Selene laughs, and lets out a long sigh. He is pleased that some of her nervousness has gone from her.

“That did get me thinking, though. I realised I don’t actually know your last name,” she says.

“I do not know yours, either,” Dirthamen muses.

She provides it to him, swiftly, and then shrugs.

“Not that it sees much use. Even the kids just call me Ms Selene,” she explains. “…And I  _still_  don’t know yours.”

Ah.

Well. He hopes she will not become uncomfortable again.

“Evanuris,” he supplies.

She laughs, which is a promising sign.

“No, but really,” she prompts.

Dirthamen is silent.

Slowly, her smile begins to falter. She puts down the napkin, and points towards him.

“You just said you weren’t a billionaire,” she insists. 

The discomfort is making a regrettable return. He wonders if she knows anything about his brother. That is a history that would make most people concerned about spending time with him, he knows. A promising star destroyed by the inept treatment of his brother.

“I am not a billionaire. I am a millionaire,” Dirthamen asserts.

Selene makes an odd noise, and then drops her face into her hands.

“Oh Creators,” she says.

Dirthamen waits, with a sinking feeling growing in his chest. This is not going well. Perhaps he should have been more forthcoming at the outset. Though, he can only suppose that this would have stopped things from even getting so far as this if he had been. Maybe that would have been kinder, though.

But he liked their dates. And talking. Too much to regret it.

“Wha…  _Why?”_  Selene asks him, when she can finally look up again. Her face is flushed.

“Why what?” he wonders.

She gestures inexplicably.

“Why all of it!” she insists. “The donations and the - the - why would  _you_  want to date  _me,_ you’re a millionaire! And I’m guessing it’s not even a little tiny few millions, either.”

“It is not,” he confirms.

Selene looks at him as if he has just delivered the world’s most inexplicable mystery into her hands.

Ordinarily, he would be pleased to give her an interesting puzzle to solve. But this seems to be upsetting her. So he takes a deep breath of his own, and carefully considers what seem to be her questions, and does his best to answer them.

“My family often donates to community causes, and my father is very fond of children. When I overheard you discussing difficulties at your workplace with Lath, it seemed only reasonable to take the unexpected insider tip, and combine my family’s interests with that of the city’s low-income populace. As to the dates, I like you,” he explains.

Selene stares at him.

“A lot,” he adds, in case that was unclear.

Selene makes another odd noise.

“You’re  _fairytale rich,”_  she says. Dirthamen is not certain if it is a question or not. “You’re like a Disney prince!”

“No. Disney princes are socially adept,” he replies. Then he considers. “Except for the Beast. But I do not have much in common with Prince Adam apart from that. And the wealth, perhaps.”

Selene continues to stare at him for a moment.

“I like Belle,” he offers, hoping they can change the subject now. “And Maur-”

The rest of his comment is lost when Selene leans across the table and kisses him.

It is a very sound kiss. A muffled noise of surprise escapes him, as he finds his lips crushed, at first, and she grips the tie he is wearing with one hand, applying a certain degree of pressure to the back of his neck. He tastes coffee on her lips, and then tastes it even more when she opens her mouth slightly to move it against his own.

He is frozen in surprise, at first. Until interest takes over, and he tries to angle his lips to match her movements.

After a moment, though, she pulls back. Lets go of his tie, and brushes his cheek before falling into her seat again.

She clears her throat.

“Thank you,” she says. “It’s really made a difference. I don’t… I don’t know what to say, really.”

Dirthamen purses his lips, and briefly runs his tongue across them. They are tingling.

“Would you still like to do things with me?” he wonders.

Selene blinks at him.

“Of course!” she assures him.

A rush of relief runs straight through him. Enough so that he closes his eyes for a second.

“Thank you,” he says.

“What for?” Selene wonders, this time.

He smiles.

“For being you.”


	9. Chapter 9

The first time Dirthamen invites Selene over to his apartment, it is while Falon’Din is out of town, visiting with their mother. A mandatory visit, so Dirthamen knows he will not be returning unexpectedly in the middle of the night, or backing out on his flight, or any such potentially disastrous thing.

Still, he checks in with both his mother and brother to make certain that Falon’Din has arrived safety, before at last driving Selene over to his apartment. He has prepared in advance for her visit - though there is no wine, since his brother would be liable to find and drink any he kept, there are a wide variety of beverages and snacks to choose from. He orders take-away, though Selene enthuses quite a bit over his kitchen.

“Is that a Cuisinart PowerEdge CBT-1000 series blender?” she asks him, staring at his counter.

“Yes,” he confirms. Though the only person who uses it is his brother. Generally to blend things that are not food-safe. He has had to replace it twice already since Falon’Din got back.

Selene also seems pleased with his oven, though less so with the contents of his refrigerator. She can tell that the majority of foodstuffs were purchased for the evening. She is proving very perceptive in that way. Dirthamen does not know how to explain that his brother tends to throw out any food he does not care for, whether it is in his fridge or Dirthamen’s, and so he leaves the matter be. He is meeting his nutritional requirements.

Much more easily, in fact, since Selene began making him lunches.

Inspection of the kitchen passes into his living room, and the view of the city from the windows. Selene regards that for a moment, before turning to examine the photographs on top of his fireplace.

“This is your family?” she surmises.

“Yes,” Dirthamen confirms, hanging up her coat and his own in the hall closet.

There is a photograph of his parents, now roughly ten years old, and a picture of Andruil on her wedding day, and one that Sylaise had sent of herself and her husband from their latest trip to Seheron. That one was likely the most recent. And he knows there are some of his brother and himself, from when they were much younger, mostly.

“Would you like me to turn on the fire?” he wonders. 

“No, that’s alright,” Selene replies. “It’s warm enough. Is this your brother?” she asks, pointing to one of the most recent photographs of himself and Falon’Din. This one was taken at his brother’s engagement party, as Dirthamen recalls. His brother looks very happy.

“Yes,” he says.

“Older?” Selene guesses.

“Twin,” Dirthamen corrects. “But yes, technically, he is older as well. By a few minutes.”

Selene squints at the photograph for a few minutes, but at length, only shrugs.

“Would you like to watch a movie?” Dirthamen suggests. He has a rich library of BluRays and DVD’s. He keeps the cabinet locked from his brother, and Falon’Din generally only breaks it when he is astoundingly furious, so Dirthamen does not have to replace them too often. When Selene nods, he opens it for her.

She raises an eyebrow.

“Why is it locked?”

“To protect them,” Dirthamen explains.

Selene looks around his living room. She gestures towards the television.

“You have a gigantic flat screen television, but you’re worried about people breaking in and stealing your DVD’s?” she asks.

"The television is large and conspicuous,” Dirthamen replies, simply. Not that this has stopped his brother from stealing it or throwing it into the complex swimming pool, on occasion, but there seems to be little he can do about that.

“Well… that’s true…” Selene allows, and only gives him a further, thoughtful glance before he opens the cabinet, and lets her browse the selection. The delivery he ordered in advance arrives then - nicely on time - and he goes to retrieve it, and tip the delivery person. When he comes back, Selene is examining the DVD player with a copy of  _Swords & Shields - The Movie_ in hand. Dirthamen checks to make certain she found the Director’s Cut version with extended scenes, before going back to begin unpacking the food.

They pass the evening watching the movie, then, and eating, and talking about idle things. At some point Selene goes from leaning against him to resting with her head on a cushion in his lap, while he runs his fingers through her hair. It is quite pleasant. Soft, and silky. A contrast to the firm strength of her features.

He likes the dichotomy.

It was pleasant, he recalls, when his own hair was long. Before he reached an age where that was too ‘unprofessional’ to maintain.

His fingers continue trailing through the strands as the movie’s end credits roll. He runs his nails lightly over Selene’s scalp, and she sighs.

Then she grasps the front of his shirt, and leans up, and kisses him.

It is a simple brush of lips, at first. He swallows, as much at the nearness of her as at the contact, and Selene’s eyes go hooded. She sits up, grasping his shoulders for leverage, and casts the cushion aside so that she is more or less in his lap. The second kiss is less awkwardly situated, and less tentative. He hesitates over what to do with his hands before finally settling them onto her hips, as Selene coaxes his lips apart, and employs some interesting techniques with her tongue.

The pleasant warmth and tingling in his lips seems to spread throughout him as the kiss draws on, parting at moments only to resume again seconds later. Selene slides against his lap, strong thighs caging him in, and he can feel his arousal building bit by bit. His skin flushes. It becomes a force of effort to hold still, to not squirm upwards, but he is uncertain of how that would be received. They are ‘making out’, he believes.

When at last Selene’s mouth breaks from his own in earnest, she draws his lip between her teeth. The flesh is so sensitive, now - almost sore - that the sensation feels very pronounced.

Dirthamen lets out a stuttering breath, and a faint little noise that he does not intend, but that makes Selene’s pupils go wide. 

“Would you mind if I stayed the night?” she asks. Her voice sounds uncommonly low.

The implications of her request are not lost upon him.

“That would be… welcome,” he decides. “Though, I… I do not have much experience.”

Selene pauses, blinking at him.

“…Do you have…  _any_  experience?” she asks, if she cannot quite fathom a negative answer as a confirmation. Dirthamen is accustomed to such questions; though, as in this case, he typically  _does_  have to give whatever answer seems so incongruous to his questioner.

He does not quite manage to voice the truth, this time. But Selene only stares at him for a moment before saying ‘holy shit’ very softly under her breath, and then muttering something about ‘gorgeous millionaires’ and ‘virgins’, and ‘unicorns’. Before Dirthamen can ask her to repeat herself for clarification, she leans in and kisses him again.

…Possibly for the best, anyway.

He does not think he is ready to handle a unicorn fetish yet.


	10. Chapter 10

Selene’s bag is stuffed full of book reports as she walks towards her bike to ride home at the end of her day. She glances briefly at her phone, debating sending him a text, but resolves to at least wait until she is home safe. ‘ _Don’t be needy. This is still casual.’_ she tells herself.

She is not expecting him to be standing next to her bike fidgeting with his own phone. 

She smiles and calls out for him with a wave, and he looks weirdly relieved to see her, but she mentally dismisses it-he probably had a long day too.

She gives him a quick kiss on the cheek in greeting and places her bag down in the basket of her bike. “What brings you out this way? Are you making donations in person now?” she teases.

“Perhaps,” he grins and holds his hand out for her “Come with me. Please.”

Selene looks briefly over her shoulder at the book reports but shrugs and follows him anyways.

He leads her past just a few buildings, to what had been, she  _knew_ , an old empty lot filled with litter and the occasional fennec family. 

She has to do a double take when she sees the fresh, clean soil laid out in the cleaned out lot. The walls have been power washed to remove the mold and graffiti that had been adorning them, there are boxes filled with naturally-decomposing pots for seedlings, trays filled with all kinds of seeds for flowers,, vegetables, fruits, some herbs she hasn’t even seen since she was a child in the clan.

Her feet seem to wander on their own accord as she drifts to the center of the lot, moving in a slow circle as she looks around, still partially stunned “Dirthamen, what….what is this?”

He remains on the sidewalk, focused entirely on her and nods at the supplies lining the back wall. “A garden, one day. I thought you would like it. Did I…” he shifts a bit nervously on his feet “Have I misjudged?”

Selene is still trying to register what’s around her, but shakes her head violently and turns to face him “No, this is wonderful! I didn’t think…we’ve just been growing our projects on the back step of the classroom near the playground. This is so much space, I’m not entirely sure what we’re going to grow. Watermelons or pumpkins maybe? The kids could carve them in the fall then…” she muses.

Dirthamen frowns slightly, not enough to be particularly noticeable but Selene has noticed most of his facial expressions are more subtle than not “Yes, if that is what you would prefer to do with it.”

Her head tilts slightly “What do you mean? What else would the school do with it?”

Dirthamen holds his gaze “This is not from the company.”

Selene blinks.

Blinks again.

“So…you made a personal donation then….?”

“Yes. To you.” 

“…oh?…OH.  ** _Oh_!**” she exclaims, her hand racing up to cover her mouth. “Dirthamen, I can’t-what am I-how-” she squares up her shoulders, and takes a deep breath, counting mentally to 5 “…Thank you. But, why?”

“I thought you would prefer this to an island.” he answers simply.

Selene laughs, a large smile splitting her face before she realizes that he is being  _entirely sincere_.

“Oh. Dirthamen you don’t have to…” she shifts nervously, genuinely concerned as she tries to hold eye contact with him “You know you don’t have to buy me things, right? I like  _you_. I mean, don’t get me wrong, this is absolutely incredible, but-” she sighs, cutting herself off “I don’t mean this to be ungrateful. Thank you, sincerely. I just…I don’t want you to think this is something you have to do.”

Dirthamen nods a moment, considering “I am aware. You are welcome.” he pauses “Perhaps you could show me a few things, and I could help you get it started though?”

Selene smiles takes his arm, pulling into the- _ **their lot, holy shit.**_

It’s certainly not the kind of thing she ever foresaw for herself,but that’s always been for the best, she thinks.


	11. Chapter 11

Their first night in Dirthamen’s apartment, Selene excuses herself from their make-out session to go and use the washroom. 

Dirthamen decides it might be wise to make certain his bedroom is acceptable, and heads in to double check that the cleaning service has been by today – they have; everything is neatly laundered and folded and perfectly in place – and on his way back out, hears Selene’s voice through the bathroom door.

“-is a  _virgin,”_  she is saying. Her tone is a low hiss. Typically used in situations to try and obscure the speaker’s intentions, though in reality, such ranges usually carry further than others. “And the sum total of my own experiences was  _once_ and it  _sucked…_ no, I don’t have a pen and paper, I am in his  _bathroom,_  there isn’t a… oh. Uh. Nevermind. He… keeps a notepad and pen in here.”

It is very useful for making lists of necessary bathroom supplies and medications.

Presumably, Selene is talking to someone on the phone. It seems his lack of sexual experience has unsettled her. He hesitates for a moment, before heading back into the living room. Based on Selene’s comments, it seems she also has had limited encounters in this field, however. He wonders if he should suggest taking her home, instead. There is no mandate proclaiming that they must have sex, after all. Dirthamen cannot say he would object to the prospect, but he would not wish to risk the entirety of their relationship on it, either.

After a few more moments of contemplation, he goes into the kitchen, and retrieves one of the snack trays from the fridge. When Selene emerges from the bathroom, he is waiting.

“We could watch another movie,” he suggests. “Or I could take you home, if you would be more comfortable with that. I am sorry. I did not mean to upset you.”

Selene blinks.

“I’m not upset,” she assures him. Then she hesitates, a moment, before moving back over towards the DVD cabinet. “We could watch another movie, though…”

Dirthamen lets out a slight breath of relief. Selene selects one of the myriad of Mass Effect films from his collection, and settles onto the couch beside him. She does not look at him quite so much, at first. But as the title sequence begins, they start up a conversation on the movie, and it eventually takes off with ease.

Twenty minutes into the movie, Selene is leaning against his shoulder again.

Thirty minutes, and she has begun to slouch lower. Dirthamen moves to retrieve a cushion, but she catches his arm, and halts him. Her free hand moves down his shirt, and rests against the skin of his stomach.

“Can I?” she asks.

Dirthamen glances down.

“Yes,” he permits. He is not wholly certain what she intends, but he trusts that if he should raise any subsequent objections, she will listen.

Selene smiles, and shifts around on the couch, and she is angled towards his crotch. She lifts up his shirt, and undoes the top button of his fly. Her fingers brush over the small patch of skin she has revealed. The touch is gentle, and careful, and makes Dirthamen’s mouth go dry. So, too, does the soft sound of his zipper, as she finishes opening the front of his pants.

Oh.

He shifts his hips, parting his legs a bit further and slouching down the couch somewhat. Selene’s touch dips below the waistband of his underwear, and he observes, with interest, how very different it feels to have someone else’s hand on him.

It feels awkward, too, though. There is not much room in his pants, come to it, and the back of his trousers press uncomfortably against him, and he suspects the edge of his open fly is pressing into Selene’s wrist, too.

“Should I… I could take my pants off?” he suggests.

Selene’s grip on him tightens, just slightly, and he lets out a surprised breath.

She gives him a speculative look.

“I’ll do it,” she offers, and slides down from the couch. A few tugs nearly drag him down after her but, he grips the armrest and his clothes come free instead, drawn down to his knees to leave him exposed. He wonders if they should not go to the bedroom, too; but then Selene touches him again, and suddenly it does not seem quite so necessary.

Perhaps it would be wise to simply… let her do as she thinks best, for now. Hers is the more advanced experience level, after all. Even if her singular encounter was unsatisfactory.

Dirthamen hopes he does not rank the same.

Selene’s touch is exploratory, and gentle enough at first that it walks a peculiar line between riveting and insufficient.  His arousal grows, though, as she leans in closer, and gains more confidence. A building heat that is different from the sort he feels on his own. It is still somewhat uncomfortable, though. His skin tends towards dryness, and the firmer touches of her hand make him worry, for a moment. He opens his mouth to speak.

“We…” he begins, but at precisely that instant, her touch moves down to investigate the sensitive skin of his testicles, and a stuttering breath escapes him, rather than another word.

“Hmm?” Selene asks, though, and halts her ministrations.

An interesting set of seconds ensue, as Dirthamen finds himself wishing she would keep going; but also strangely captivated by the sudden cessation. Caught more thoroughly in the fine framework of his building desire for her touch.

“It… it may be too dry…” he explains, swallowing heavily.

“Let me get my purse,” Selene says, and stands up. He swallows, again, his gaze fixing onto the long line of her legs, and the curve of her hip with an uncommon fervency.

“I have lubricant,” he tells her. “There should be some in the bathroom.”

“I’ve got it,” Selene assures him.

She returns with a packet of condoms – lubricated, Dirthamen rightly guesses – and her skin as flushed through as he can ever recall seeing it. She stares at his erect penis, for a moment, before trailing her gaze up across the rest of him.

“Take your shirt off?” she asks.

Dirthamen pauses, before reaching up and undoing his buttons, and leaning forward to pull off the sleeves. He sets the shirt onto the back of the couch, and looks back to see Selene shifting on her feet. Her gaze flits across his chest, and down his stomach, before settling onto his crotch again.

“Wow,” she says, quietly.

“What?” Dirthamen wonders.

“You’re… really, really pretty,” Selene says. “Handsome. I mean. That too. Both. Very, um. Very. How has no one ever….? Not that there’s anything wrong with that. Because there isn’t. I mean you can definitely wait however long you like, even if you change your mind right this minute. I wish I’d waited. Not that that matters right now, it’s just.  _How_ …?”

Dirthamen blinks.

“How?” he repeats, questioningly.

Selene lets out a breath, and shakes her head.

“Never mind.  I’m rambling. Just… tell me if you want to stop. That’s the important bit,” she decides.

He nods.

“And you as well.”

Selene gives him a look of silent agreement, before kneeling back down in front of him. She unpacks the condom, and carefully fits it onto him. It is, he thinks, somewhat too large – perhaps she over-estimated him? – but it is slick and not that noticeable, and should be suitable for the hand job she is performing just the same. There are more, if she wishes for more complex acts, in his room. Dirthamen knows they will fit him. He investigated sizing and comfort with that brand himself, years ago, and more recent checks have provided consistent results.

It is important to know these things. His sexual education instructor had been very clear on that in school.

Once the condom is on, Selene resumes touching him with much more ease. She rubs gently at his testicles again, and grips him before pumping at him in a way that makes his blood surge and his hips jerk. It is not until she leans closer still, however, and kisses the head of his cock that his breath breaks and the smallest sound of shock escapes him.

“Oh,” Selene says, wonderingly. One of her hands moves to his thigh, and she looks up at him as she slides her moth onto him once more. It is very warm. Her breath brushes across him as she grips him by the base of his shaft, and alternatively licks at him and seems to try and swallow him. It does not look very comfortable for her, but it feels extremely… electrifying.

As her movements grow more sure, Dirthamen finds himself panting, and gripping at the couch. When he makes sounds, he discovers, Selene grows more sure of her actions. When he is silent, she pulls back a little; more concerned. He wonders if words would help, but he is having troubles going through the necessary steps of thinking of what might be appropriate to say, and the re-examining it through various filters to try and make certain it is not too strange, or potentially insulting.

So he just makes noises, instead.

They seem effective.

When he is close to coming, though, he thinks it prudent to warn as much. Selene may not want her mouth on him for that, in case there is any minor tear in the condom caused by its improper fit.

“I am… I…” he gets out, before sucking in a deep breath. “I am going to come.”

Selene is pulling back in concern, as he finally manages the sentence.

She blinks at him.

Then she giggles, just the tiniest bit, as her hand squeezes him and he does; spilling into the condom while she brushes her thumb across his shaft. He feels a rush of pleasure, and then a subsequent dip. Almost unnerving in the loss of the accumulated high. His breath stutters. But Selene is still flushed and perched between his knees, smiling and seemingly quite pleased with her accomplishment.

Dirthamen tilts his head back for a moment, as he struggles to regain his equilibrium.

“That was very pleasant,” he says.

Selene smiles.

“I guessed,” she tells him, and reaches up to brush a hand down his stomach.

Dirthamen blinks, and considers her. She is still fully dressed, and very lovely that way; but also radiant enough in her apparent arousal that he thinks he would quite like to see her with her clothes off, too.

“Would you like to see the bedroom?” he asks.

Selene’s smile falters, just a bit.

She glances down at herself, and then back towards him. For a moment he thinks she will decline. Perhaps there was something in his performance she found unappealing, or insufficient to her desire. Or perhaps there is another reason. She seems uncomfortable, again, and he wishes he could make that discomfort fly away. He wonders at the source of it.

But then she looks back towards him, and her expression shifts to something less severe again.

“I think I would,” she decides.

Dirthamen offers her a rare smile of his own.


	12. Chapter 12

Once they get into the bedroom, Selene is very nervous.

More blatantly than usual, in fact, as she shuffles her feet and stares at the room. Dirthamen gives her a moment to assess. He is still unclothed, having deemed it counterproductive to dress in the wake of their living room activities. But now he wonders if his nudity has become discomfiting, as well.

“I will go clean up,” he suggests. “You can familiarize yourself with the room and make yourself comfortable.”

Selene blinks at him, and then nods a little stiffly.

Dirthamen retreats to the bathroom, and wonders how much time would be appropriate to give her. Perhaps enough to fully reconsider, and change her mind? But how much would that be? He supposes he could take a quick shower. That might be considerate; he sweated somewhat during their last activities, and it would probably be a more pleasant interlude if he smelled nicely for it. He runs the water, cleans himself thoroughly, and dries off. He forgoes his usual hair care routine in favour of blowing out the dampness and letting it fall where it may, before finally emerging again.

Selene, he finds, is lying in his bed, with her clothes neatly folded in a pile to the side of it, and the covers pulled up to her chin.

Dirthamen blinks, and moves towards her.

He ponders her for a moment. Selene stares back, and judging by the way she is gripping his blankets, she is feeling very apprehensive.

“Can we dim the lights?” she asks.

He considers.

“Yes. Although I am not certain my skill level is sufficient to performing sexual acts in the dark,” he replies. He feels a faint note of disappointment, too, which he takes a moment to place. He would like to see her, he thinks. He himself is still entirely naked, so part of him determines that reciprocation would be fair.

But her discomfort stops him from voicing the thought. It is not fair if she finds the prospect unnerving, when he is barely concerned with it.

Selene swallows.

“I am… not very pretty,” she tells him.

Dirthamen blinks in surprise at the admission. But then he considers. Selene’s features are sharp, and her frame is tall and strong. There is an angular quality to her that is not in keeping with typical standards of feminine softness. Her assessment, he deems, is not inaccurate.

“No,” he agrees. “Pretty would be an inapt descriptive term.”

Her expression falters.

Dirthamen reviews their exchange, and her behaviour, and comes to the conclusion that she is feeling self-conscious because of her looks. It is a strange turn, given that he has seen her scantily clad on several occasions so far. But perhaps the prospect of intimacy has made her more discomfited than usual.

“I like your appearance,” he assures her. “I have spent a great deal of time admiring it so far. I have seen the entirety of your bare legs, and they are very pleasing to look at. The shape of your backside is also very nice, and I have imagined you naked on occasion. I have no objections to scars, cellulite, wrinkles, birthmarks, callouses, or anything of that nature.” Reaching down, he brushes her cheek. “But if you are afraid, we can leave it here. It is up to you.”

Selene stares up at him for a moment.

Then she sits up, and begins to move the blankets away.

When she falters, Dirthamen offers a hand. And she accepts, and so the both of them pull back the sheets. Her form is much as he imagined it would be. Very pleasing, and angular, and not overly delicate. But the obvious vulnerability provokes a more visceral response in him than he expected.  _Delicate_  and  _pretty_  may not be apt descriptive terms for her overall appearance, but he cannot think of any other to apply to the soft skin of her breasts, and nipples, or the flesh of her abdomen below her navel.

Selene looks at him. Still self-conscious, he suspects.

He smiles.

“You are very beautiful,” he assures her.

“Thank you,” she says. “I know I’m not…”

She gestures, but Dirthamen is not actually certain what point she is attempting to make. He cannot quite think of what she is ‘not’, at the moment. Most of him is preoccupied by the prevailing urge to touch her. He finds that he is very curious about what the skin on her hips feels like, or how soft or firm her breasts might be. He wonders if she would let him return the act that she performed on him earlier, and use his hands and mouth on her.

And he wants to kiss her, too.

“May I kiss you?” he asks.

Selene swallows. One of her hands unclenches from the bed sheets to grasp at his bicep.

“Yes,” she agrees, close enough that he can feel her breath.

He holds her chin and kisses her. Gently, at first. But as he deepens it and moves closer, the tense hold of her fingers on his skin relaxes a little. He brushes his thumb across her jaw, and moves back enough to murmur another question.

“May I touch you?” he asks. Again, she swallows; and he brings his free hand carefully to her knee, emphasizing the question without moving past the bounds of skin he has already touched. He keeps the contact light, as her eyelashes flutter, and she sways closer to his lips again.

“Yes,” she agrees.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, because he certainly does feel as if he has been granted a great boon. He kisses her again, before moving back to pay proper attention to touching her, instead. He draws one hand down from her jaw, across the jut of her collarbones, and the curve of her breasts. He brings the other one up and finds that her breath catches when he smooths his fingers over the dips in her hip bones. That she shivers, just a bit, when he brushes the tops of her thighs.

She shifts around, and then her breath catches again when one of his hands slips between her legs. He glances up at her.

“I would like to use my fingers on you,” he admits. “And my mouth. Please.”

Selene stills.

“Y…you don’t have to, um, reciprocate… like that,” she says.

“I know,” he agrees. “I would like to, though. Unless you are too uncomfortable with the prospect?”

Selene takes a moment, but in the end, only mutely shakes her head.

Dirthamen examines his nails critically. He had cleaned them in the shower, and they are not long, but it is prudent to make sure. He recalls reading some articles on the frequency of vaginal infections, and after a moment goes and retrieved a packet of condoms from the bedside table instead. Selene looks perplexed, as he pulls one out. But after a moment she swallows, and to his surprise, leans back fully on the bed.

“Change your mind?” she asks, quietly.

“No,” Dirthamen says, carefully fitting a condom over two of his fingers.

The new angle is exemplary, however. Selene’s legs are bent over the side of the bed, which means that while he is kneeling, he is being given a perfect vantage point to the folds and opening between them. With his free hand he brushes Selene’s thigh, and contemplates the view a moment, before venturing his first touch.

It is… awkward.

He has seen diagrams before, but the real thing is a different matter. He is not certain where the sensitive areas are, and so exploration is required, he supposes. His covered fingers slide over delicate skin without seeming to accomplish much. If Selene reacts, it is hard to tell, because he cannot see her face.

Dirthamen brushes her again, and feels ineffective, again.

He frowns.

This looks like his mouth would suit better, perhaps. He could suck at certain areas and probably garner a more obvious positive or negative response, and go from there. Moving both hands up to Selene’s hips, he leans in, and ventures an experimental lick. She is more scent than taste, he decides. Not unpleasant. He drags his tongue through the hot, damp folds of her flesh, and she gasps.

He pauses for a moment, to see if she will subsequently object. But it seems that was the good kind of gasp, as she does not. A glance upwards reveals the soft peaks of her breasts, and her flushed face turned back towards the ceiling.

Dirthamen repeats the motion. Selene does not gasp, the second time, but perhaps she is less surprised. She does offer up another one when he begins sucking at her experimentally, working his mouth across the folds of her flesh and sliding his tongue through her, before latching on to different segments and gauging her reactions. She gasps a few times, but when he finally finds what he suspects to be her clitoris, she moans and clamps her thighs tightly around his ears.

Almost as soon as she does it she moves her legs apart again, though, apologies falling from her lips.

Dirthamen blinks up at her.

“No,” he says. “That was good. Do not worry; if you hurt me, I will cast warning lights.” So suggesting, he snaps his fingers, and summons up a brief cascade of sparks. Not substantial enough to risk lighting the sheets on fire, but distracting enough to capture most people’s attention.

Selene lets out a shaky breath.

“You… don’t mind?” she checks.

“I like this,” Dirthamen confirms.

And he does. His skin is tingling, and there is definitely some warmth building up in him again; though he is generally slow to arouse in most circumstances. Selene moves, tentatively, back to where she was, and Dirthamen murmurs another ‘thank you’ to her as he returns to his most recent discovery. He licks and sucks at the most responsive part of her flesh for a while, as her voice breaks again, and her thighs tighten around him once more. Based on her encouragements, he supposes a firmer touch would be welcome. He thinks he knows how to use his fingers better, now, but he would have to move back before he could begin to. And as that seems to be the opposite of what Selene wants, he presses closer, instead. He grips her hips and slides his tongue against the heat of her opening, and has his way with her as her voice gets louder and louder, until she presses a pillow to her face to try and stifle some of it.

Even through the fabric, and the press of her thighs against his ears, though, he thinks he can discern her calling his name when she comes.

That is very gratifying. She was not even imagining someone else.

She shudders, afterwards. Dirthamen moves back to wipe the moisture off of his chin, and then make certain she is pleased. A slightly dazed, bewildered look greets him. Selene’s chest rises and falls heavily, and her self-consciousness seems to have momentarily abandoned her in the face of her perplexity.

“Did you use magic?” she asks.

“No,” he says.

“I saw sparks,” she tells him.

“I think that is a good thing,” he ventures, and procures a fresh condom – the first one has gotten lost in his distraction. “May I touch you again?”

Selene blinks.

“Go to town,” she replies, still somewhat dazed. Dirthamen resolves to keep a closer eye on her expressions, just in case she is less equipped to express discomfort than usual. He draws himself up onto the bed beside her, to get a better angle; positioning himself so that he can reach down from the top, with his face close to Selene’s stomach and his body aligned alongside hers.

“You have a very nice butt,” Selene informs him.

“Thank you,” he replies. It reminds him that he would care to see more of her own, but one thing at a time. He works his fingers down into her folds, and listens to her breaths. Her hip is close enough that he can press a kiss to it, and when he does, he feels one of her hands settle onto his backside.

He is pleased enough to let her examine it, while he props himself up to pay better attention to his own task. He thinks that this might work best if she was more or less in his lap, but then he would have more troubles seeing what he is doing; so perhaps another time. As it stands, though, he manages to slide his touch over the sensitive spots he has found, before venturing his first digit inside of her. Her flesh is pliant and relaxed, and his covered index finger slips into her with ease.

He ventures a second, experimentally.

“Oh,” Selene breathes.

Her hips tilt.

“Is this alright?” he checks.

She does not reply with a recognizable set of words, but the sound she makes seems overall positive. He grip on his backside tightens, slightly.

Dirthamen moves his fingers in a slow, circular rhythm, taking care – this is delicate flesh, after all – before venturing firmer touches again. He moves his fingers just slightly backwards, pressing at her inner walls, and Selene’s thighs tighten once more. His touch sinks deeper, and she moans in approval.

Taking the hint, Dirthamen begins working his fingers more firmly within her. He slides them as far out as the restriction of her clamped hips will allow, before pressing them back in again, turning them until his wrist begins to fatigue, and Selene is clutching at him and making a plethora of noises again. Her hips rock steadily towards his touch, but even so, when she comes again she startles enough that her nails dig into his flesh.

She releases him, hastily, panting and quaking as he at last withdraws his own touch to shake out his wrist.

Still, the slight strain was worth the accomplishment.

“I think I prefer using my mouth,” he muses, before turning back towards Selene. “Which did you prefer?”

Selene almost slumps off of the mattress, though, and so he catches her first. Holding her while they are both naked is very interesting. Her skin is warm against his own, and reminds him quite a bit of his own arousal, and he situates them both more securely onto his mattress.

One of Selene’s hands flops upwards, before landing onto the covers again.

“I liked… both?” she says, dazedly.

“Good,” Dirthamen decides. “Would you like to have more sex, or do you need to rest?”

Selene turns her head towards him.

She still seems bewildered.

He wonders what has confused her so much.

“Are you real?” she asks him.

Dirthamen tilts his head, and glances down at himself, before looking back up at her.

“That depends on which philosophical branch we are addressing. But I believe general thoughts on the subject would hold that most people are as real as can be adequately defined by the concepts of our own limited perceptions,” he reasons.

Selene blinks.

Then she rolls over on top of him, and treats him to a very long, and warm, and sated series of kisses.

“We can have more sex,” she tells him. “We can have  _all_  the sex.”

Hopefully she does not mean to have it all tonight, he thinks.

He has work in the morning.


	13. Chapter 13

Oh no.

Dirthamen scrambles out of bed at the sound of two voices that should  _not_  be speaking to one another, realising all at once that he has overslept, that Falon’Din must have gotten a morning flight back, that his girlfriend is standing in the doorway glaring at the living room, that there is no possible way for this to appear to be anything other than what it is.

He moves behind Selene, and Falon’Din goes from glaring at her to glaring at him.

He sees his brother look between them. Sees the moment as his eyes narrow, and his lips thin, and his gaze locks with Dirthamen’s and he  _knows_  his brother is furious.

Then Falon’Din sneers.

“I hope he paid you up front,” his brother says, before turning back towards the television.

Selene bristles.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?”

Dirthamen draws in a long breath, and feels a cold, hard knot settle into his stomach.

“This is my brother,” he admits, closing a hand carefully over Selene’s shoulder. “Falon’Din, Selene is not a prostitute, brother. Please be more considerate of my guests.”

“Since when the fuck have you ever had guests?” Falon’Din demands, before sneering at Selene again. His gaze tracks up and down her exposed figure; but for some reason, the self-consciousness which had plagued Selene the night before is gone, and she only meets his assessment with a glare.

After a moment, Falon’Din smirks.

“Well, honey, if you were looking for a good time, you missed the better brother,” he says. “But if you want to stick around, I could take pity. Last night must have been a laugh and a half.”

Selene’s expression twists towards revulsion, and Dirthamen is forced to try and pull her back into the room as she asserts a firm negative to his brother’s suggestion. 

“I am sorry,” he says. “I did not think he would be back so soon. I am sorry. Please, do not goad him. He is not pleasant when he is upset.”

Selene looks at him with a different expression, then. Still not a pleased one; though he can hardly blame her for that.

“What kind of ‘not pleasant’?” she asks, and glances back towards the bedroom door. "Because from where I’m standing, he already has unpleasantness pretty well covered.”

“I am sorry,” Dirthamen repeats. “It would probably be best if you left. I can deal with him, but he will be unpleasant to you for as long as you stay. He dislikes it when my attention is divided.”

“Oh  _really?”_  Selene asks, glaring at the door again.

It takes him some work to get her to agree, in the end. She seems apprehensive at the prospect of leaving him alone with his brother. But Falon’Din is much more of a danger to her, he knows. His brother’s back is a stiff like, neck tense when they finally dress and emerge from the bedroom again. He is silent, though, as Dirthamen escorts Selene from the apartment, and offers to pay for her cab. She declines him, though.

“I’ll catch a bus,” she says.

“Smart,” Falon’Din says. “Pretend like you aren’t interested in his money. Aim for the long con.”

Selene glares at him.

“I didn’t even know he was rich,” she snaps.

“Suuure,” his brother drawls.

Dirthamen determines that it is best to end the encounter there, and hurries Selene out as swiftly as she will let him. It is only once she is safely out of the door that he releases his breath, and turns his mind swiftly towards containing the damage. If he never speaks to Selene again, then likely his brother will let the matter go. It may even become a source of amusement to him. 

But that would mean never speaking to Selene again, so he will consider other options first.

“So. What the fuck was that?” Falon’Din asks, at last standing up from the couch.

“It was a date,” Dirthamen replies.

“Since when do you date?” his brother demands.

The air around him goes cold, and brittle. The television cracks.

“You date,” he tries pointing out.

It is a mistake. Falon’Din’s expression falls into a sneer, and the television cracks again, frosting over, as dark lines trace their way across the living room floor.

“ _I_  like people.  _I_  understand them.  _I_  am not going to get taken for a ride by some gold-digger,” his brother says. “You’ve never even been able to handle a fucking hooker before.”

Dirthamen objects to that. On both occasions when his brother thought it would be amusing to hire a sex worker for him, he had very pleasant conversations with them. They did not rob him, either, which has happened to his brother on several occasions now.

But mentioning that would probably be counterproductive. Defending Selene would also not accomplish much. Falon’Din’s opinion of her is erroneous, but Dirthamen doubts it would improve much with the truth.

“Was this what you were doing while I was locked up in that hellhole?” Falon’Din demands. Then his expression goes from sneering and angry to purely furious. His cheeks darken with anger, and his eyes glint. His resemblance to their father is most potent in his fury. “Is that where you’ve been going when you  _blow me off?”_

“I am attempting to have a social life,” Dirthamen says, trying to make the matter sound more broad, and less focused on Selene in particular.

Falon’Din goes dangerously quiet.

“You have been ditching me to go and fuck someone,” he says. “This is what it’s come to, now? Hmm? Bros before fucking hoes, Dirthamen!“

“…I am sorry you are angry, but I did not mean for it to-”

He is barely through the sentence before his brother turns towards the DVD cabinet - still open from last night - and begins pulling them out in handfuls. Dirthamen’s heart sinks as his brother moves over to the apartment window.

“Falon’Din,” he says. “Please do not destroy my property.”

“Well I might as fucking well, before you sign it all over to some blonde lay along with half your assets and your ‘heart and soul’,” Falon’Din sneers, and sets about tossing his DVD’s out of the window. They soar like disks into the air, and shatter into shards of ice and broken plastic; little more than dust once they reach the ground.

He will have to pay fees to the city for the magical disruption, if anyone reports it.

“Brother, that is illegal,” he points out.

Falon’Din responds to this perceived criticism of his actions by throwing the DVD player out of the window, too. Dirthamen catches it with a spell before it can fall too far - it would be bad if it hit anyone on the sidewalk - and Falon’Din throws a ball of blue flames at it, hot enough to melt and warp the plastic, before he can guide it over to the balcony instead.

“I went through hell!” his brother raves. “I was locked up, abandoned,  _suffering,_  and you were screwing around! I have spent my whole entire life looking out for you, but that doesn’t fucking matter, does it? You spoiled, selfish, greedy fucking shit! Everything always has to be about you!”

"That is not what happened,” Dirthamen says. His brother’s stay at the rehabilitation centre was not that unpleasant. He was not forgotten, or overlooked. He was not expected to put his life aside for someone else’s. He never has been.

“The hell it wasn’t!” Falon’Din snarls, and with a gesture, sends the entirety of the DVD case’s contents flying out through the apartment windows. Several shatter. Dirthamen catches the shards hastily in a barrier, but his brother is more incensed than even he might have guessed. The act of mitigating his destruction only seems to make him more angry, and Falon’Din turns and strikes him.

Dirthamen cannot evade the blow and hold his spell at the same time. His cheek burns, and his vision dances for an instant as his head is knocked backwards.

Falon’Din looms in front of him, panting.

Dirthamen moves the window shards and broken DVD’s onto the balcony, too.

Almost as soon as he lets the spell go, his brother’s expression falters.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have hit you, I know. I’m just worried about you. You can’t just go getting yourself tangled up in stuff when I’m not around to watch out for you, you know? People are bad news, Dirthamen. They’ll take advantage of you.”

Falon’Din reaches over, and smooths a hand across his cheek. It hurts. His skin throbs, and he tries not to flinch. The knot in his stomach settles into a pit of ice, that makes him think of the cracked, black television screen beside them.

“I want to make friends,” Dirthamen says, hoping to generalize again.

“You don’t need friends. Just me,” Falon’Din insists, and tightens his grip on him, until his face is throbbing.

“Just me.”


	14. Chapter 14

“I can’t believe…the nerve of some people…” Selene grumbles to herself. She pauses in her steps, sighs, and runs a hand down her face.  _‘Probably partially my fault anyways. I shouldn’t have reciprocated like that. I’ll have to send an apology-_ ’

She’s interrupted from her thoughts by a loud crash above her head. She whips around, and sees the glass from the windows suspended in mid-air. She doesn’t have to count or check, she knows whose windows those are.

‘ _No fucking way is he getting an apology **now**_.’ she thinks as she rushes back into the building, ignoring the elevator to run up the stairs. She pauses briefly for breath before she reaches his floor, and sends off a quick text to her cousin

> _Hey, if you don’t hear from me within the next 6 hours call the cops. Stay safe._

She ends it with Dirthamens address, pockets her phone and takes a deep breath.

_‘Well, it was nice being Selene while it lasted_.’

She opens the door cautiously, but a quick glance around the room sends her body temperature soaring as she tries her best to keep her head straight.

Then she sees Dirthamens injury, his brothers hand still gripping his face, and all she remembers is white.

————————————

Dirthamen sees the door open from the corner of his eye, and his stomach somehow drops even lower.

She came back.

Why did she have to come  _back_?

His eyes lock with hers, and he realizes that she is…different.

Not possessed, but it’s certainly something he had to check.

Her eyes are glowing white and her entire arms are covered in fire.

This is not Selene.

————————————-

Her heartbeat is thudding in her ears and everything is hot and hyperfocused. She is angry. Really, truly angry.

She hasn’t felt like this in a very long time.

It’s dangerously freeing.

Her arms are on fire and even though the heat doesn’t hurt her skin it is burning away the sleeves of her favorite coat but she can’t bring herself to care as she approaches the man holding Dirthamen.

He hurt him.

He has been hurting him for a very long time.

_**Enough.** _

She grabs Falon’din by the back of his shirt, taking advantage of his temporary shock at her return. She drags him away from Dirthamen, pushes him up against the wall and she wants, she wants, she wants to take from him everything he has no doubt robbed Dirthamen of. She wants to drag him through the shards of broken glass covering the room, the room she and Dirthamen had been together in just a few hours ago before he came in and he ruined it  _he ruined it **he ruined it**_.

But she doesn’t.

She can’t.

She won’t.

The flames on her arm die out.

She is still so  **angry.**

Her eyes stay white and her temperature drops dramatically and she has to fight her bodies urge to vomit at the sudden shift as she freezes him to the wall in the thickest sheet of ice she has ever managed to summon.

She regretfully leaves his face bare for breath, but ensures a nice coat around his face to keep him from moving.

She flings the couch in front of the ice to keep him pinned, just in case.

Hopefully that will keep him occupied.

She whips around to Dirthamen, still standing and staring, seemingly unsure of what he should be doing in this situation.

Probably for the best.

She grabs his hand and fade steps him out of his apartment, and into hers.

‘ _Safe now_.’ she thinks, as she fades back to herself and promptly collapses forward.


	15. Chapter 15

Dirthamen is tied to a chair.

He is restrained, but, he could actually escape, if he really invested some energy into it. The chair would not be difficult to knock over, and the bonds are loose enough that with some concerted energy, he could likely just pull his wrists free. But that is, of course, not the point of this endeavour.

He does not put  _concerted_ effort into escaping. Though as Selene crosses the room wearing only a mask and a set of revealing, lacy underthings that compliment her figure most exceptionally, he nearly considers it. There is a pointed sway to her hips, as she pauses, and then turns, slightly.

“What do you think?” she asks, with only the slightest betrayal of some self-consciousness, in the way one of her hands moves.

“I think I would like very much to touch you,” he says. “You are gorgeous.”

Her skin flushes, just beneath the edge of her mask. She offers him a smile, and then an assessing look of her own.

“Hmm. I don’t know. Should I let you touch me?” she wonders, and moves a little closer. Dirthamen’s arms shift beneath the ropes binding him to the chair. 

“I would like to,” he asserts again. And he would. He very much would enjoy running his hands across her skin, and kissing her, and pressing aside the tiny scraps of fabric she is wearing to run his fingers over the places where she is softest. 

Selene grins.

“But I still have two more outfits to try on,” she says. and reaches over to trail a finger down his chest. “You’ll just have to wait.”

Dirthamen draws in a ragged breath, and feels a surge of heat flare in him, summoned by her touch, her loveliness, her withdrawal. His gaze lingers on her as she moves away again, that sway back in her hips, long legs casting equally long shadows as the candles they lit flicker through the room.

When she comes back, she is another set of even skimpier lingerie. Her self-consciousness is more apparent, as the top does not suit her quite so well; though the bottom rides high up onto the curvature of her backside, and does an exemplary job of highlighting her hip bones.

“I don’t like this one as much,” she tells him, turning.

“I could take it off of you,” he suggests.

Her lips quirk, and she considers it for a moment. She leans in, and begins undoing the buttons on his shirt. Her fingers snake through his tie, and she pulls him forward by it.

“I think I’ll leave this on you,” she decides. “And go take this off myself.”

Dirthamen pulls, just a bit more, at his restraints. Wondering if he could just get his hands close enough to touch her, before she grins, and moves beyond his reach again.

The third outfit is similar to the first, but in different colours, and a more simplistic style. Dirthamen quite likes it, though. Especially the shiny parts, which suit Selene very well. His erection is straining against the front of his pants as she walks, slowly, over to him; and comes to a halt in front of the chair.

“Well?” she asks, spreading her arms. There is no self-consciousness to her at all, now.

“That is my favourite,” he tells her.

She smiles.

“Mine, too,” she agrees, and moves in. One again her hand trails down his chest, igniting little sparks of want in him as she dips it lower, and finally unfastens the front of his belt. He shifts, squirming a little as she takes her time pulling down his zipper, and then at last freeing him fully as she yanks the fabric away.

“May I touch you?” he asks.

“You just sit there,” she tells him, and reaches for the table beside him. His eyes trace her movements as she pours a small circle of lubricant into her palm, and then straddles his lap. His erection presses against the flimsy fabric of her lingerie until she grasps him, and pulls him away just a little; the lubricant warming as she draws her touch over him. Her free hand presses between her own legs, toying with them both as Dirthamen leans his head back.

Selene presses a kiss to his neck, and lets go of his cock to reach for his tie, instead.

“Look at me, vhenan,” she instructs.

He lets out a breath, and does so; she rewards him with a kiss, and another stroke to his erection; moving her hand from herself and over to him.

“I don’t think you’re restrained enough,” she decides, and after a moment, lets him go to reach back towards the table. She plucks one of their preferred cock rings from the surface, along with a condom. Dirthamen’s skin is beginning to feel like it is on fire as she fits both onto him. She bites her lip as she does so, and once she is finished, gives him a firm squeeze.

A ragged gasp escapes him.

“Vhenan,” he says, and pulls at the bindings again. “Please, let me touch you.”

“Maybe later,” Selene replies, as she climbs back into his lap. He holds his breath as she takes his tie in one hand again, pulling him forward a little while she lines him up with the other, and sinks onto him. Warmth enclosing him so thoroughly that he forgets how to breathe for a moment. Selene shifts herself a bit, getting a little more comfortably situated on his lap and in the chair, before reeling him in for another searing kiss.

“You feel so good,” he tells her, and she shivers a bit, her gaze going hooded as she starts to rock her hips.

The chair skids, a little.

Dirthamen’s nerves jump in mingled pleasure and surprise as Selene sinks even deeper onto him at the jolt, and her eyes widen. Her mouth opens a surprised sound escapes her, as the cock ring presses flush to her sensitive skin.

“Are you alright?” he asks.

After a second, Selene lets out a breath.

“Mmhmm,” she confirms, and to emphasise her point, slides back up onto to repeat the motion. The chair stays in place this time - thankfully; Dirthamen does not think it would be a pleasant experience if it tipped over - but Selene goes just as deep again, slick heat taking him entirely as she lets out a sound of pleasure. Her hands move to his shoulders, and grip them tight as she settles into a strong rhythm.

Dirthamen’s own hips buck towards her, but there is only so much he can manage with his restraints. He wants to take her like he did last night, he thinks. Up against the wall, with her legs wrapped around his hips, her voice singing in his air. Breasts soft against his chest, fingers in his hair. But he cannot move. He can offer only the slightest shifts towards her, as Selene takes him, and his arousal grows dizzyingly hard.

And then Selene’s movements grow more erratic, and a moment later she stills and cries out as she comes; her muscles tightening irresistibly around him. For a moment, then, she leans against him, as she pants, and he remains inside of her; still locked into his own arousal, but now she is only still and soft and spent atop him.

After a few moments, she presses a languid kiss to his lips, and brushes a hand across his cheek. She sighs, as she shifts her hips somewhat.

“Please,” he asks. “Selene. Let me come.”

She nuzzles him pleasantly, moving her mouth over to his temple.

“You mean, please, Selene, don’t just climb off of me and leave me like this?” she asks, as her lips traverse over to his ear. She nips at him. “Please, Selene, untie me and let me help with all of this, maybe?”

“Yes,” he confirms.

She hums.

After a few moments, her hips start to move - slowly - against him again, sliding back and forth once more.

“Maybe later,” she repeats.

Dirthamen shivers, and his adoration of her knows no bounds.


	16. Chapter 16

Selene visits Sylaise at work, folder and papers nestled safely inside of her bag. The building is tall. It’s not  _technically_  a skyscraper, but in this city it may as well be for how much it looms over everything else.

She can do this. It’ll be fine.

She squares her shoulders and enters the building.

 

Inside it actually looks bigger, people walking with purpose on every level, stairs that are very ornately decorated, with grand statues, marble pillars and-is that a waterfall?

There is a waterfall inside of the law firm.

Of course there is.

 

Selene has a habit of forgetting sometimes just how disgustingly rich Dirthamen and his family are, but this definitely helps put it in perspective.

They probably got to write the waterfall off as a business expense even.

Ugh.

 

She heads to the elevator and pings the button for the correct floor (and this is probably the biggest elevator she has even been in in her life, you could easily fit 40 people with room to spin), waiting patiently for others to get on and off at their respective floors.

She does make it to the top floor eventually, and almost manages to run right into someone carrying coffee.

 

“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry, are you alright?”

 

“Lucky for you, the answer is yes,” they sneer before their eyes meet.

 

Oh, it’s Tasallir.

Ugh.

 

“Oh, it’s you,” he says, apparently on the same wavelength “What are you doing here?’

 

“I have an appointment.”

 

He laughs and starts heading towards (presumably) his own office “You can’t afford us. Go home.”

 

Selene’s shoulders tense up “It’s just a consult, do you have to be such a pretentious piece of-”

 

“Selene dear, is that you?”

 

Tasallirs head whips around at the Sound of Sylaise’s voice walking towards them “I thought I heard you. Come now, don’t be late.”

 

“Yes, Sylaise. Thank you.”

 

Tasallir stares at the pair of them as Selene follows Sylaise to the main office, pausing momentarily to turn and stick her tongue out at him before he turns beat red and huffs off into his room.

 

Sylaise closes the door gently behind them, and offers Selene a seat.

 

“Would you like anything? Water, coffee, tea?”

 

“No, thank you Sylaise.”

 

“Anything for you my dear, you know that.” Sylaise says with a smile, her hands delicately holding one of Selenes.

 

Selene laughs nervously, pulling her hand back “Yes, well, that  _is_  why I’m here,” she digs through her purse, taking out the folder and placing it on the desk between them.

 

Sylaise doesn’t even look at it.

 

“How are things with you?”

 

“They’re fine, thank you.”

 

“Mm. You’ve been together for quite a while now, yes?”

 

“Uh…yeah, almost a year, I think,” Selene answers cautiously.

 

“So you’re quite serious then? About Dirthamen, that is.”

 

“Well, yes. I love him, very much.”

 

Sylaise gives her the smile again “Well, that is very comforting to hear. I only want the best for my brother. Anything less tends to simply fall by the wayside. I’m sure you understand, yes?”

 

Selene fidgets slightly in her chair, eyes glancing towards the folder and thinks that perhaps this wasn’t such a good idea. “I believe so, yes.”

 

“Wonderful. I’m glad we had this talk. I’m quite looking forward to having you as a sister you know.”

 

Selene nearly chokes “I don’t think-we’re not-I mean maybe one day, but-”

 

Sylaise chuckles and waves her hand dismissively “I didn’t mean to trip you up darling. Perhaps we should move onto what you came here to do, hm?”

 

Selene nods as Sylaise thumbs through the papers “I uh, actually had a small favor to ask you about it, as well.”

 

Sylaise pauses “A favor besides this consultation?”

 

“Technically it’s _regarding_ the consultation.”

 

“Ah. Is it that you don’t want Dirthamen to know?”

 

Selene nods

 

“I won’t tell him about it, certainly. But I think you’re vastly underestimating him to think that he won’t find out on his own.”

 

“I just…I’d rather tell him about it myself, once it’s all sorted.”

 

“Mm. Well, then you should handle it swiftly,” Sylaise advises, going back to the papers.

 

Selene nods again, fidgeting with her bag in her lap while Sylaise reads through the small stack, letting out a small sigh as she finishes.

 

“So, what precisely are you trying to accomplish here?”

 

“I want to give up my claim.”

 

Sylaise’s eyebrows raise slightly, and she leans back in her chair.

 

“Why? Most Dalish would pride themselves on inheriting this much.”

 

“That is precisely why I shouldn’t be the one to have it.”

 

Sylaise stares at her silently for a minute

“Hm. Tell the truth now darling, we’re all friends here.”

 

Selene sighs

“My father and I have a…strained, relationship, in that he has disowned me, officially. He disapproves of my lifestyle choices.”

 

“So he is upset you chose to leave your clan?”

 

“Among other things, yes.”

 

“And those other things are…?”

 

“Not relevant to the matter at hand,” Selene answers firmly.

 

Sylaise pulls out a notepad and begins writing  
  
“Alright then. These are the forms you will need to fill out, and you will also need to name a new recipient unless you want them to be snatched up by some big name corporation,” she grins “Unless that’s what you’re going for of course. I’m sure I could convince my Mother to take these assets off your hands.”

 

“No.”

 

“We’ll take very good care of things.”

 

“ **No,** ” Selene reiterates.

 

Sylaise shrugs and continues writing down the necessary forms “Then this should sort everything out. If you have any more issues, feel free to give me a call, I’ll put my number at the bottom for you.”

 

Selene thanks her, and goes to stand.

 

“Oh, we’re not quite done yet, darling.”

 

Selene looks at her quizzically. “What else is there?”

 

“Payment, of course.”

 

“You said the consultation would be free.”

 

“It is. Lying to my brother when he asks what I was up to today is not.”

 

Selene frowns, and sits back down “I don’t have much money. I’ll have to pay you in installments, I suppose.”

 

Sylaise laughs “Oh, you couldn’t afford those prices, and I wouldn’t blackmail you over this. You can simply, owe me a favor. A favor for a favor, that seems fair, doesn’t it?”

 

“What sort of favor?”

 

“Oh, don’t fuss over the details. We can discuss it another day.”

 

Selene considers it for a moment before nodding slowly “Alright, I’ll owe you one favor, within reason,”

 

Sylaise grins, and it actually crinkles in the corners of her eyes “Lovely. We can begin negotiations over lunch tomorrow.”


	17. Chapter 17

Dirthamen is fairly certain he has already read this line of the contract. Several times, in fact, but it all just keeps swirling together in front of his eyes. He blinks rapidly in an attempt to clear his vision, but only succeeds in making himself dizzy.

 

He decides that he must have been working too much lately, saves his progress, and heads for home.

 

The drive and walk up to his apartment fatigues him more than he thinks it should.

 

His door is unlocked when he turns the knob, and he worries briefly until he hears Selene humming along to her playlist in the kitchen.

 

The keys fall to the floor rather than making it into the bowl when he places them down, and Selene jumps at the noise. She calls something that sounds like his name, but it feels like its coming through a fog, and he thinks he needs to have his air conditioning unit looked at because it is entirely too warm in here but then Selene is pressing her hand to his forehead and it feels blissfully cool so he makes an appreciative moan at it.

 

Selene’s face turns red at the sound, before she ushers him into bed. She strips off his shirt and pants, and he thinks this is a good thing but should he be doing something? It feels like he should be doing something.

 

She leaves him alone in the room and his chest aches dramatically at the loss until she returns with a washcloth and a small basin of water.

 

She wipes him down with the washcloth and he shivers at the cold, but she is singing quietly to him and it is mostly dark in the room with the curtains drawn and it feels too wonderful to do much besides lie there and enjoy it.

 

He falls asleep before she finishes.

 

When he wakes, there is no more light peeking in through the curtains. He stands, and uses the restroom and when he emerges, Selene is poking her head into his bedroom.

 

“How are you feeling?”

 

Dirthamen considers for a moment before answering “Better, I believe. Thank you.”

 

Selene smiles at him “Lay back in bed, I’ll bring you some soup.”

 

He complies without a fuss, and she comes back with a bowl, a spoon, and a small pile of napkins and sits beside him on the bed.

 

“Open,” she says, while holding up a spoon containing carrots, celery and an assortment of noodles

 

“I am quite capable of feeding myself, Selene.”

 

“Maybe, but your sheets are nice. Do you really want to risk it?”

 

He sighs and opens his mouth for her. She smiles, clearly pleased with herself, and he silently thinks that it is rather nice to have someone to care for him this way.

When he has finished eating, she asks him if he’d like her to read something to him.

 

He thinks that he would, and says as much but it comes out a bit too flowery he thinks, as she turns red and he spews entirely too many words about her voice.

 

She clears her throat and leaves with the dishes, returning a few minutes later with a book and a bottle of water for him.

 

She begins to read, and he listens intently, settling his head in her lap while she runs the hand not holding the book through his hair soothingly.

  
He falls asleep again before long.

 

When he wakes, it is morning, and he realizes that she is still sitting with him, book in hand beside her on the bed. He smiles, feeling much better than he had the day before and plants a kiss on her forehead.

 

It is pleasant to have someone to care for him, he thinks.


	18. Chapter 18

She is wearing the lingerie.

 

He is all too aware of it as he watches her from the corner of his eye, trying to maintain a conversation with a business contact in front of him,while Sylaise flirts effortlessly with Selene on the other side of the room.

Selene had sent him a picture from her apartment before he picked her up, and Dirthamen finds himself regretting their agreement to delete such things, despite understanding the necessity.

He excuses himself from the conversation as soon as it would not be rude, and makes his way to where Selene and his sister are chatting.

 

“-I think I have something in your size sitting in my closet actually, you should come over sometime soon. June would love to show off all of the improvements he’s been making on the house, and you might have a better shot at convincing him not to build that horrid deck he’s got planned.”

 

“Sounds like fun, I’ll see when I can make it over,” Selene smiles, leaning into Dirthamen quite comfortably when he slips his arm around her waist.

 

“Hello brother,” Sylaise grins at Dirthamen “I was just telling our Selene here how lovely her dress is. Your suit looks wonderful as well, that shade of blue is very flattering on you.”

 

“Thank you. Have you completed your tasks for the evening then?”

 

Sylaise takes a sip from the wineglass in her hand “Of course I have,”

 

Dirthamen nods “I did not see your husband here tonight. Is he ill?”

 

Sylaise lets out a very put-upon sigh “No, he’s deeply immersed in his newest project,” she glances at Selene and offers a smile “I really should find someone else who can step up for him,”

 

Selene gives a light chuckle “Good luck with that. It sounds like a rather large pair of shoes to fill,”

 

Sylaise ‘hms’ quietly in response, and takes another sip of her wine.

 

Selene’s hand drifts down to subtly grip at Dirthamens ass, and he jumps slightly, trying to fight off a blush as he glances down at her, but she is still simply smiling at his sister.

 

Perhaps he imagined it then.

 

Selene turns and looks up at him with an innocent smile “Dirthamen, will you show me where the coats are kept? I’m getting chilly, sorry.”

 

He nods and excuses the two of them, escorting Selene carefully down the stairs in her heels and before he can alert the person to whom they are supposed to give their tickets, he is being pulled into a closet, the door closing quickly but quietly behind him as he is pushed against it by the force of her mouth on his, one of Selene’s hands untucking his shirt while the other tangles itself in his hair.

 

Well, perhaps he wasn’t the only one distracted tonight.

 

He eagerly returns the kiss, his hands sliding past her neck and idly untying her hair, enjoying the sensation of it spilling over the back of his hands and the bit of pride he gains when she shivers slightly.

 

Although its also possible she truly  _was_  cold.

 

He pulls back what small amount he can, but she picks up on the hint and releases him. Her eyes are hooded, as her tongue drifts carefully over her swollen lips.

He would very much like to kiss her some more. Much more, in fact.

But the closet is very small, and there is a steady amount of foot traffic on the other side of the door.

 

“Selene…”

 

“Hm?” she responds, her hand drifting along his stomach underneath the now undone shirt and teasing along the top of his pants.

 

He takes a deep breath, trying to clear his head, but her fingers drift lazily over his growing arousal and it catches in the back of his throat instead as she grins wickedly at him, her lips pressed to his throat.

 

“We can not…here.”

 

“Why not?” she asks, feigning innocence as she slowly pulls down his zipper and slips her hand inside the newfound opening, making him gasp loudly enough that he can hear someone make an inquiry on the other side of the door.

 

“You know why-” he whispers, before she slides to her knees and finishes releasing his cock from its confines, and when she presses a gentle kiss to the bared tip, he abruptly forgets all of his reasons why this might be a bad idea.

 

“Do I? Why don’t you remind me then, Vhenan? List them, even,” she requests in low tones before swallowing a large portion of him down, slowly stroking the base with a loose fist.

 

He grunts slightly as he attempts to regain his bearings “For starters, this door is very thin,” he whispers, still listening for anyone that may be approaching, “Secondly, I still have a few contacts I need to-”he gasps as she swirls her tongue, and resists the urge to thrust towards her when she pulls back and looks up at him

“ 'need to’…?”

 

He eyes her carefully.

She is really going to make him do this?

…

Of course she is, he thinks.

 

“This is a business outing, if you recall. I have some people I still need to speak with in person,” his tone loses a significant amount of its bite when spoken in between staggering breaths he thinks, but she seems satisfied and returns to her previous task, humming lightly around him in acknowledgment and it sends a shock up through his spine.

 

“Additionally, Sylaise knows where we ran off to, and will likely come looking for us soon if we don’t return on our own,” he gasps out, trying desperately to keep himself from thrusting up into Selene’s mouth and throat, but it is so warm and so wet and  she is still wearing the lingerie underneath, he knows, and he is so  _close_ already-

She releases him with a lewd sounding 'pop’, and quickly licks the tip of him clean before standing and tucking everything on him back into place.

 

“Well, I suppose we wouldn’t want to make a scene,” she teases.

 

He is not sure a scene would be so terrible, now that his head is swimming and he is still teetering on that edge and now there is no release in sight, but he assists her in re-positioning her hair into the style it had been when they first came down.

 

When she turns to face him again, he reaches up to brush the corner of her mouth lovingly, and she takes his hand between her own, kissing the tip of his finger and successfully reminding him of his mild problem.

 

“How much longer do you think it will take you?” Selene asks

 

He contemplates, and quickly skims through his list “An hour, perhaps,”

 

She nods, slipping something into the pocket of his coat while she leans in and kisses him sweetly.

 

“An hour, then,” she grins, opening the door and making her way back up the stairs.

 

He waits a few minutes after she goes to avoid an uncomfortable situation, and digs into his pocket to see what she had given him. His mouth goes dry when he feels the silk and lace between his fingers; she had given him the underwear she had been wearing.

 

He decides some people can wait another day; he will be done in 30 minutes.


	19. Chapter 19

The back seat of Dirthamen’s car is not spacious enough.

He never realized this before. But as he hikes Selene’s skirt up, and his elbow jams into the back of the passenger’s seat again, it becomes abundantly apparent. Selene is crammed up against the interior of the door beside her, long legs twined over him, and one of her shoes has vanished somewhere as well.

Dirthamen can buy her a new pair, he thinks, as he buries his face between her legs. The scent of arousal is thick in the air, and Selene makes a very gratifying noise as he drags his tongue through her warm, wet folds. The angle is still not ideal. She tries to turn more fully into him, but then one of her legs flails out and she kicks the seat and lets out a curse.

He could use his fingers, he supposes. But after what happened earlier, he finds himself more inclined to tease. So he restricts to attentions of his mouth to places that are near-to - but not quite - where he knows she best likes to have it. Her skin is smooth and soft as her works his mouth over it. Pulling back to kiss at the insides of her thighs, and then lick gently across her again.

“Dirth- _oh,”_  she breathes, as he darts his tongue lower, and draaags it slowly back up.

He hums at her, and grips her thighs a little more firmly, and lifts her up to a slightly better angle. He waits until she is tangling her fingers in his hair, and her breaths have come to a certain point of raggedness, before he pulls back again.

She blinks at him, flushed and dishevelled, and nearly coming out of the top of her dress.

“This is not a comfortable space for such activities,” he decides. “I will drive us home now.”

Selene blinks, as he carefully pulls down her skirt, and rights her top, before opening the backseat door.

“We should get there in twenty minutes,” he tells her.

Then he slides into the driver’s seat.


	20. Chapter 20

Selene is exceedingly late for their date. He sends her another text, leaves another voicemail, and waits.

 

It has been 3 hours.

 

He is beginning to worry.

 

His phone rings, then, but it is not Selenes number.

He answers, and hears from the other end “Hello, Mr. Evanuris?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Hello, I’m calling on behalf of Denerim General Hospital, we have a patient here who listed you as an emergency contact, a miss Selene Lavellan?”

 

His stomach drops, as he grabs his keys and goes through the motions with the receptionist on the phone, driving just slightly over the speed limit.

 

They still haven’t told him  _why_  she is there.

–

 

He makes his way into the emergency room, announcing himself and makes his way to where Selene is being kept.

  
She is alone, when he gets there. Sleeping, and stuck full of tubes. Her eye is swollen, and there are large scrapes covering her arms. Her chart mentions internal bleeding and a slight head injury as well.

 

He pulls a chair beside her bed and turns on the television, carefully taking one of her hands in his and trying to focus on anything other than the nausea settling over him.

 

There is a drink commercial being drowned out by his heartbeat thumping in his ears when he hears her speak.

  
“That stuff tastes terrible. Like chalk dust,” she grumbles, but to Dirthamen it may as well be a sonnet for the relief it brings him. He turns to her, squeezing her hand reassuringly, but when she winces he releases his grip quickly.

 

She reaches back out for him, and he allows her to rest her hand on top of his, instead.

 

“What time is it?” she whispers.

 

“Almost midnight, now,”

 

She groans “I missed movie night. I’m sorry.”

 

He almost laughs at the absurdity “If you wanted to do something else, you could have simply told me rather than hospitalizing yourself,”

 

She does laugh, but it ends in a cough as she curls in on herself slightly, and he frowns in uncertainty; should he reach for her, or would that just cause more pain?

 

“What happened?” he asks instead.

 

She sighs “I thought I’d take a shortcut, and it backfired. There was a group of people, and I wasn’t paying attention and they surprised me,” she pauses “Crap, I think my bike is still in the alley,”

 

Dirthamen frowns, a nagging sensation in the back of his head “Why didn’t you fight back?”

 

“I did, once they pulled a gun. It’s why the ambulance showed up, I sort of…lit them on fire. Probably not the brightest idea near firearms, but I panicked,” she shrugs, but it follows with another wince. “Shit, am I going to go to jail?”

 

Dirthamen has a solid theory about why precisely Selene was targeted, and by whom.

“I’ll ensure there are no charges pressed on their side of things,” he growls out.

 

She blinks slowly at him, no doubt still under the effects of several pain killers “Really? Is that a thing?”

 

Dirthamen nods “Yes. Do not make a habit of this though.”

 

“Getting jumped?”

 

“Going out alone,” he corrects.

 

She frowns at that, and attempts to straighten herself but mostly just slides further down on the pillows.

“Dirthamen, I’m not going to change my lifestyle because I got unlucky once.”

  
“You should. At least for a little while,”

 

She frowns and opens her mouth to argue but he cuts her off with a quiet “Please.”

 

She stares at him for a minute and sighs. “You know who jumped me.”

 

“I believe so. I will have to look into it to be certain.”

 

She stares at him for several moments before speaking again “Did they hurt you?”

 

He blinks in surprise “Uh. No.”

 

She hardens her stare, clearly not believing him.

 

“I do not believe the people who harmed you have ever caused me physical pain,” he amends.

 

Selene sighs, her shoulders slumping as her exhaustion begins to show once again “I’m gonna kick your brothers ass, just so you know,” she mumbles.

 

Dirthamen places a soft kiss to her forehead as she drifts off and thinks for a moment that he will deserve it.


	21. Chapter 21

The first thing Dirthamen does is restrict his brother’s access to funds.

Given that the majority of ‘Falon’Din’s’ funds are actually controlled and owned by Dirthamen, this is not difficult. There are some family assets which he might be able to circumvent Dirthamen to access, but one call to Sylaise and then a long conversation with his mother, and those are no longer an issue, either. That leaves his brother almost entirely dependant on his personal accounts, which only contain the remaining profits from his musical career. Given his brother’s spending habits, and the various properties and fees that will now be pulling entirely from that pool, and accounting for time zone differences and Falon’Din’s apartments in Tevinter, Orlais, Antiva, Ferelden, and Rivain, Dirthamen estimates that he will be completely overdrawn by the end of the week.

The next thing he does is withdraw family protections from various circles in law enforcement and several corporate venues. That takes longer, and many more calls and arrangements; conversations that seem surprisingly enthusiastic over the news, despite the loss of hush money and bribes that would be entailed. One of his contacts among the Templar Militia seems particularly eager at the prospect of being permitted to ‘throw the book’ at ‘that shitbag’ the next time he ‘so much as breathes a funny-sounding word’. Dirthamen cannot say he approves, entirely, but it will be interesting to see how his brother reacts to  _truly_  being held to the behavioural standards of the average mage.

Dirthamen is not entirely well-versed in all of Falon’Din’s criminal contacts. This necessitates a number of circuitous conversations with Andruil, who takes some time to appreciate what he is attempting to accomplish.

“You want to  _completely_  cut Falon’Din off?” she checks. By her tone, he thinks she is at once very surprised and deeply amused.

“Yes,” Dirthamen confirms.

“You. Not Father,  _you_ are making this call. What did he finally do?” his sister wonders.

Dirthamen considers this matter, recalling the sight of Selene in the hospital. She is not the first person his brother has put there. And it his fault, in many ways. But he does not think he has ever quite appreciated, before, just how much it is also  _Falon’Din’s_  fault. Just how unwilling he is to give up what he has found for the sake of his brother’s needs.

Perhaps he has finally become more selfish than loyal.

“He has broken my patience,” Dirthamen concludes.

There is a long moment of silence from the other end of the line.

“Are you going to kill him?” Andruil wonders. She sounds fascinated.

“Probably not,” Dirthamen says. He is, after all, still his brother. “I may end up sealing his consciousness on another plane of existence, however. I have not made my mind up on that point. We will have to see how things go from here. He does not take well to suffering, and he is about to experience a great deal of it. So he may become intractable. For his sake, I hope not.”

He thinks he hears his sister whisper  _holy shit,_  softly, but when she speaks again it is at a normal volume and tone.

“Alright, then, Dirthamen. Well. Let me know if you need anything else. Always a pleasure to help my favourite brother out,” Andruil concludes.

“Thank you. I hope you have a good day,” he replies, politely, before hanging up.

Three days later, when Falon’Din storms into his office - he changed the locks on his apartment, so that is no longer an option - Dirthamen catches the hand attempting to grasp him by the collar, twists, and slams his brother face-first into his desk. Careful not to accidentally damage his computer tower. The monitor, unfortunately, does not escape injury.

Neither does Falon’Din’s face.

His brother struggles and cries out and spits accusations, and guilt, and Dirthamen finds that even though he can agree with much of what he says, he does not feel any weight from it. He pins his brother down, and wonders if he has stopped loving him.

Possibly not.

But it is hard to feel for him right now, just the same. Something has broken, that is for certain. Something only Falon’Din could break. Not the monitor; an emotional tie.

When Dirthamen finally lets him up, he seems… confused.

“How could you do this to me?” he wonders.

How could he, indeed? That is an interesting question, he supposes. He has known his brother to do many terrible things. Many things which he has disapproved of, many things which he has also shared fault for. And yet, at those times, he never would have even considered the treachery he has now committed himself to.

The answer comes after a few moments. Unfolding with quiet comprehension.

“You made me choose,” Dirthamen realizes. “You made me choose… and I did not choose you.”

Falon’Din’s entire countenance changes. Crumbling. Anger fading and confusion easing, as a moment of true fear flickers in his gaze. But then it is gone again. Swallowed up by another tirade, as outrage takes over. Shades of their father showing through, as his brother attempts to shout matters back into submission. As he raises his hand, but Dirthamen only catches it again, as his magic rises up, and the air goes very, very cold.

He grasps Falon’Din’s chin in his free hand.

“I have deserted you, brother. Do not make me destroy you as well,” he says.

The fear returns, as the two of them lock gazes. Falon’Din’s. Not Dirthamen’s. Dirthamen has no fear, at this moment. Perhaps this is all the product of his failings and failures, but he thinks, now, that it is done. He cannot save his brother. And he cannot suffer him any longer, either. Not when there is Selene. Not when he can - when he wishes to - at the very least, save himself.

And her.

Falon’Din flees his office.


	22. Chapter 22

There is nothing but dread hanging over her head when she gets on the boat to cross the  Amaranthine Ocean to Wycome. The last time she made this trip, she was headed the other way, with no intention of ever going back. There is a part of her now that is insisting she never really left; that the last 9 years have been nothing but an extended vacation, and that now she’s going back where she is supposed to be. Ignoring it, she clutches her bag tightly to her side and takes a deep breath of the sea air. It is sharp and vivid, and the taste of salt lingers on her lips long after she has descended into her cabin.

 

In the end, it takes Selene almost two weeks to arrive at her Clan’s site outside of Wycome, travel to Var Bellanaris, bury her father, plant his tree near her mothers, and return to sort out his things.

 

She sighs as she climbs into her fathers Aravel the first night she arrives back in the settlement, her bones aching and a significant weight in her chest as she stares at the canvas that forms the ceiling. He never bothered to get new ones, she notes as she looks over a few scorch marks that she remembers making in her youth. All of his books are stacked and sorted properly on the shelves, and his potions and tonics are all stocked away in their designated areas.

Some people never change, she thinks bitterly.

 

“Sulvuna? Are you still awake?” she hears her Keeper ask from outside the door.

She rolls out of bed, exhausted, but bids her to enter.

 

“Thank you, da'len. How are you holding up?”

 

Selene offers her a smile “I am fine, Keeper. And 27 is too old to be considered a da'len, I might point out.”

 

Deshanna gives a jokingly put upon sigh and pats Selene on the shoulder “Ah, you always were in such a rush to grow up, Sulvuna,”

 

She chuckles lightly before Deshanna continues “I have a favor to ask of you.”

 

Selene frowns slightly “Oh?”

 

Her keeper offers a solemn nod and continues “I’m afraid that your fathers death has left a bit of a hole in our clan, and a vital one, at that. We will need a healer.”

 

Selene physically pulls back and eyes Deshanna warily, who puts up a hand to stop her from interrupting “I understand you have a life, wherever you are now. I am not asking you to abandon it, only to assist in continuing the training of your fathers apprentice until we can acquire someone from another clan to stay with us and complete it. I have already made a few calls, and it should not be more than another week or so before they arrive.”

 

Selene goes through a mental checklist of her responsibilities; it is still early in the summer and she has already been offered another year at the school, so she does not have to worry about calling in to work for another month or so, her rent and utilities come out of her account automatically, so she shouldn’t be evicted or end up with her power shut off when she returns, but her plants will need to be watered and trimmed. She thinks about Dirthamen, and his face when she had left to come here.

“I will need to make a phone call, but another week should be…doable.” she concedes.

Deshana smiles and thanks her before taking her leave. Selene climbs back into her fathers hammock and stares at her phone for a few minutes, debating if it might be too late to call already, but ultimately decides to risk it.

He answers after the second ring.

“Hello?” echoes through the receiver, and she feels like a weight has been taken off of her chest already, a warm sensation washing over her and she can’t help the smile that spreads over her face.

 

“Hey there. Whatcha wearing?” she jokes.

 

“…My Pajamas, the striped ones?” he answers, slowly.

 

She laughs quietly at that before continuing “Ah. Did I wake you? I’m sorry.”

 

“It is no trouble,” he evades. She shakes her head lovingly and they are both quiet for a moment.

 

“I miss you,” she whispers. And oh, she does. It is much harder like this, she thinks. Perhaps she was just spoiled, being able to get up and walk or ride her bike to him whenever they wanted to see each other. But she wants very much to be back beside him right now. She misses his voice, his eyes, his touch.

 

“I miss you, also,” he responds. “Will you be returning soon?” he sounds hopeful, and her heart sinks.

 

“Not quite. My Keeper asked me to stay a bit longer. Another week, at most,” She says. She still hasn’t told him that her father passed, and the longer she stays the harder it will be to hide it, she knows. But, it is nice to be able to speak with someone who isn’t pitying her, or offering her empty concerns. The clan means well, and they are trying to be polite, but she feels as though they are offering them to someone else; she’s not even sure what she’s doing here, sometimes. Selene debates telling Dirthamen these things; imagines trying to articulate that when she sees herself with her hair in a braided ponytail and wearing armor, she doesn’t recognize her own reflection anymore, or that she felt as though someone else had buried her father and she had stood beside them and watched.

Debates telling him about Sulvuna, and everything about Des.

 

But instead, she asks him if he would be willing to water and care for her plants while she is gone. He agrees, of course, and already has a key so there is little issue for him once she gives him a list of instructions.

 

“I love you,” she tells him later as she feels her eyelids starting to close under their own weight.

“I love you too. Rest well, Selene,” he returns, and after a moment, there is a quiet click through the line.

 

She falls asleep still fully dressed.

–

The next day is busy, and Selene learns quickly why the Keeper asked her to stay.

“That is Royal Elfroot, do not add that to this mixture!”

 

“We’re out of the regular stuff, this is fine,” they argue.

 

Selene practically yanks the herb out of the younger mans hands before he can begin to trim it “This is much harder to grow in our climate, and significantly more expensive to procure. It is also several times more potent; if you added this to that tonic and actually gave it to someone, it could  _kill_  them.” she lectures.

 

The elf, Melava, she thinks was his name, shuffles awkwardly, and relents “I will go see if there is any elfroot being grown,” he mutters before taking his leave.

 

With a heavy sigh, Selene leans back in her chair with a hand over her forehead; really, had he paid  _any_  attention to her fathers lessons? Elrogathe never would have stood for something like that.

 

“Got a moment to help a clumsy man?” she hears from the doorway, as Haleir lets himself in.

 

She groans internally. Great. So much for being gone before he managed to return from his latest trading route. Still, as she turns to actually look at him, his left arm is entirely scraped up and bleeding and she tuts as she stands to pull out a chair for him. “Who did you piss off this time, then?”

 

“I scared one of the Halla while I was showing one of the noisier toys off to the da'len. One of her horns got me when I put my arms up. Better than my face though,don’t you think?” he informs her cheerfully

 

“I don’t think I am the person you want to have answer that,” she jokes as she grabs some gauze, water, and healing salve for him. It takes a bit of time to properly wash the wound, and after a moment it seems to all work on muscle memory anyways. Her mind drifts off, and she feels more like a witness in the corner than a participant during their conversation, as he tries to make small talk and Sulvuna gives polite responses. It isn’t until after Haleir has left the aravel that she seems to re-enter her own body, and the feeling is…jarring.

She forgets what she was in the middle of doing, and is just sort of standing around dumbly trying to remember until the apprentice comes back with a handful of crushed elfroot. Something about it registers to her, and she sighs, explaining to him that this particular potion calls for chopped, not crushed, and they will have to go back to the farmers and beg for more.

She takes his second trip to stand outside of the aravel, in hopes that a bit of fresh air will help her clear her head. Instead, she finds the Da'len searching through one of her bags and playing with the objects inside. She strides towards them to give them a lecture, but one of the younger girls sees her and screams, which incites the rest into panicking and attempting to hide any evidence that they were involved. The one who had been playing with her phone charger has the brilliant idea to throw it into the Halla pen, and Selene helplessly watches it get cracked, trampled, and destroyed under hoof of the now also-panicking Halla.

She will have to apologize to Dirthamen for not calling again when she gets back to Denerim.

’ _Just one more week_ ’ she thinks to herself.

 

 

 

–

It has been three more weeks since her phone charger was destroyed, and she is still attempting to teach her fathers apprentice, and waiting for the arrival of his supposed new teacher. She should be angry, she knows. Should be impatient, should be furious about being here so much longer than she wanted to. But all she can muster is a sense of resignation, and emptiness.

Her dreams have become significnatly more vivid in her time here. Des has managed up a very convincing copy of her apartment, and more than once she has confused it for reality. She forgets her numbers, and ends up in her bed with hands that are warmer than she remembers trailing along her stomach as her clothes disappear. She moans out ’ _Dirthamen’_  and gets a ’ _Sulvuna’_  back the first time that jolts her into waking so suddenly she falls out of her hammock.

 

As time continues to pass and more and more people call her Sulvuna in her daily life, the name stops being enough to rouse her. The line between her dreams and her reality starts to blur, and she feels instead like perhaps she is living in both simultaneously.

Dirthamen asks her to move in with him one night while they are joined, and Selene almost blurts out a yes before she notices the fork in his tongue and shoves him away.

She wakes up and immediately vomits, that morning.

 

–

The other clan members are kind, but she still eats alone in her fathers Aravel at night. She has decided to simply leave his work and research here; clearly they will need all the help they can get. Her own clothes from Denerim are far too dirty to be worn again by now, so she finds herself in either her armor or her mothers old clothing that her father had kept. Those are able to be washed in the communal laundry days, but they still make her feel less like Selene, and more like Sulvuna.   
She is unsure when the two began to feel so separate, but she is having difficulty shaking it.

One of the others jokes that having her here makes it feel as though her father never left. She supposes they meant it in kindness, that family is supposed to want to carry each others burdens and legacies, but it just makes her feel like she is losing even more of herself.

She is trying to remember why she should even care.

 

Alaris joins her for dinner one day, when he finishes his tasks early.

“I’ll admit, I didn’t think you would actually stay.” he comments from around a mouthful of grains.

Sulvuna tilts her head slightly “What do you mean?”

 

“Well, Deshanna told me she was going to ask you to take over for Elrogathe, but I never thought you’d actually accept. You seemed happy in Denerim. Did something happen?”

 

Sulvuna tries to think about it; She remembers blue eyes, and wonderfully cold hands, and being happy, she thinks. Nothing strikes her as having gone wrong though. She wonders then why she is here instead.

 

“I don’t think so,” she replies, staring hard into her bowl. No, she wanted to go back. She wasn’t supposed to be here this long, she has other things to do, other places to be. She was waiting for something… “Someone else was supposed to be coming in, to replace me.” she gets out slowly, pushing past the fog in her head.

 

“Really? I didn’t hear anything about that…” Alaris mumbles “Do you know who?”

  
Sulvuna shakes her head “A healer from one of the other nearby clans, I think. Someone else who could take over Melava’s training.”

 

Alaris frowns then, and puts his empty bowl down beside him “No, Deshanna hasn’t contacted anyone about that. I would know, I’m usually the one she sends for that sort of thing, being First.”

 

She pauses then, and thinks back; Melava hadn’t mentioned expecting anyone else either, nor had anyone, really. They all seemed rather comfortable with her there, as though she had come back home.

But that isn’t right. This isn’t her home, not really. Not anymore.

 

“I…need to speak with Deshanna,” Sulvuna mutters as she stands.

 

Her feet carry her to their Keepers tent, and she knocks once before announcing herself and entering anyways.

Deshanna is sitting there with a cup of tea and a piece of parchment; writing a letter, maybe. She glances up at Sulvuna and caps her pen, leaning back in her chair and gesturing towards an empty seat.

 

Sulvuna nods in thanks and seats herself, staring at Deshanna and wondering where to start. Is she really going to accuse her of this? This woman who taught her how to control her magic, and helped raise her, and watches over the clan that she so selfishly abandoned?

Selene resolves herself and gets out “Did you actually call for a new teacher?”

 

Deshanna sighs and takes a small sip from her cup “No,” she says plainly.

 

“Why did you lie to me?” Selene continues.

 

“You needed time. If I had asked you to stay then, you would have told me no, and the clan would be stuck with a barely learned apprentice to care for their wounds. We would have had an epidemic on our hands, surely you have seen him in action by now.”

 

“That is why you should call for a teacher. He needs one.” Sulvuna responds.

 

“He has one; you. You have been doing a wonderful job, Sulvuna. Melava has made leaps and bounds in his work these past few weeks. You have a responsibility to your clan, and your people. It’s wonderful that you were able to find a few hobbies during your time away, but this is who you really are, and where you are supposed to be.”

 

Selene scowls and stands, her hands gripping angrily onto the table as Deshanna continues.

 

“And don’t think I haven’t heard about you playing around with that traitorous flat-ear. Do you know what his family has done to our people? How many they have displaced, or made disappear entirely? If you had remained there, you would have become another one of their casualties, and put a target on our backs.”

 

“You have no right to make these sorts of decisions for me,” Selene argues.

 

“I have every right to do what it takes to keep our clan safe.” Deshanna argues. “Do you know how many apprentices your father went through after you left? Melava is the seventh. Even at the Arlathvhen he didn’t find anyone he thought was suitably capable enough, and anyone who didn’t quit he would chase out. It should have been you, staying to learn the full extent of the Vir Atish'an. Despite your disagreements, you are the most well suited to succeed him. It is what you have always been meant to do, Sulvuna. You owe it to Elrogathe and Dhaveira. You owe it to your parents.”

 

She struggles then. She knows Deshanna is right, that she has a responsibility here, that she needs to do what she can to assist her clan, no matter what that means she will need to give up. But Selene thinks of actually giving up everything she has, her run down apartment, her gardens, her degrees, her career;

Her relationships.

She can’t bring herself to do it. It is selfish, and awful, and she will likely not be permitted to return after this, she knows. She thinks of Des, and his offers; if she stays, she knows she will accept at some point. It would only put her clan in more danger, in the long run.

She can not stay.

She has a responsibility to herself besides, Selene thinks. She is not obligated to give up everything she has worked for because of the circumstances of her birth. It is unfair to treat her this way, to make her remain in a place that affects her in such a way.

 

“I do not owe them anything. I have paid my dues, and I have made my choices. You have no right to tell me how to live my life; it is mine, and mine alone. If you disapprove, you may exile me. I will remain one more day, and then I am leaving, regardless of Melava’s progress. If you are uncomfortable leaving your clans health in his hands, I recommend you call another clan for assistance, as you should have done in the first place.”

 

Deshanna stares them down, Sulvuna and Selene both staring back from behind their eyes, and maintaining their stance. Deshanna relents before long, and gets up to make a phone call. Selene stays, and ensures that she does actually ask to have someone sent to them before taking her leave.

 

She is going home. One way, or another.


	23. Chapter 23

Selene stops calling.

Dirthamen tries not to worry. He supposes she needs space, for whatever it is that she is handling. He does not want to make a nuisance of himself, even though he finds himself missing her quite a bit. More than he expected to, and he expected he would miss her a lot. He goes to her apartment and waters her plants, and checks the locks, and covertly makes certain that her bills are being paid.

Selene told him he should eat up what was left in the fridge, and so he does. He microwaves plates of leftovers, takes some things he suspects that she made specifically for him to work with him for lunch, and spends a few evenings sitting on her couch, eating her food and watching her television, and looking at his unanswered messages.

The week ends.

Another week trickles by.

Dirthamen begins to wonder if she has left him. It seems so strange, to abandon a home and a job, but then he thinks of his brother’s past romantic affiliations. Many of them did the same. Apartments abandoned, jobs left, trails covered – and after Glory, he had started helping with that. But now he wonders, did Selene view him in the same light? Someone too powerful, too frightening; someone she could not say no to, and so had to flee from?

It stays his hands, when he thinks of sending her another message.

What if he is frightening her?

He waters the plants. The fridge is empty. He works overtime, and flies out to Highever for a day to have lunch with his mother, who talks about business deals and acquisitions and hostile take-overs, and nitpicks Sylaise and asks if he has still not found Solas.

“No,” he lies.

His mother never suspects him of lying about these things, so she accepts his brevity as his typical matter-of-factness.

Dirthamen does not chase people who do not wish to be found. Unless they are dangerous, and Solas is not dangerous. Selene is not dangerous. His mother approves of his renewed work ethic, that he has been spending more time in the office again, that he has gotten over his ‘slump’. It is a strange thing to think of, because it had not felt like a slump. It had felt like he was, instead, blinking his way out of the shadows for the first time in years.

Falon’Din trashes his apartment.

Dirthamen sleeps in Selene’s, and ignores his brother’s calls. Perhaps he should run away. It is an interesting thought, although it does not quite hold the same appeal as fantasies of the apartment door opening, and Selene walking in.  _I’m home!_  she says.  _I’m so sorry I was gone for so much longer than I said._  And then she gives him a plausible explanation, but Dirthamen does not really care what it is, so long as she is safe and back and still wants him.

So long as she did not become afraid of him, while he failed to even notice.

He is woken by the sound of a key scraping in the lock.

The apartment doorframe always makes a straining sound when it opens. Time has warped some of the wood, not enough to really be a safety or security issue, but enough that it strains and groans and reverberates throughout the other rooms when it opens. Dirthamen sits up, and wonders if he is dreaming as he hears the  _fwump_  of a bag falling against a wall.

He pauses, and then pushes the blankets aside. Making his way carefully out of the bedroom, to see Selene leaning against the entryway wall. Her expression is a little dazed. There are dark circles under her eyes, and she smells like Denerim’s wet, rainy traffic, and airports, and medicine. Dirthamen walks properly into view, and her eyes catch his. He is clad only in his nightclothes; a soft shirt and some loose pants. Under her stare, for a moment, he feels oddly exposed, and she looks at him and he looks back at her and wonders if he is asleep.

It does not feel like it. He can usually tell.

“Selene?” he asks, at last.

Her expression crumples, and she bursts into tears. Great, wracking sobs, that tear at Dirthamen in a host of unexpected ways. He wants to go and hold her; and then he wonders if she is crying because she thought, after all this time, perhaps he would have given up and not been here. Perhaps she hoped he would be gone. He wonders if he should offer to leave, and then he wonders if that would seem like he was abandoning her. He does not know what to do; and so he only stands there, as she slides down the wall, crying and crying.

Tears can be dehydrating.

Dirthamen quietly goes into the kitchen, and retrieves a glass of water, and some tissues from the bathroom. He brings these offerings back to Selene, who is still wearing her coat and still crying. Careful not to impose, he sets them gently onto the floor beside her. He means to retreat a respectable distance, then. But one of her hands comes up, and catches his wrist.

She holds it tight enough to worry him further.

“That’s my name,” she says, quietly. “You know me.”

Dirthamen’s brow furrows. Is she feverish? He reaches out a hand, and smooths it across her forehead. She feels warm, but not unusually so for someone who has been crying so much. But at the touch she lets out a shaky breath, and tugs him closer; and that is more invitation than he can doubt or resist. He drops to the floor and puts his arms around her, and pulls her into his lap.  _Selene, Selene._  Should he say it again? He whispers it to her, and kisses her tear-stained cheek, and wonders what happened.

It seems he should have gone looking for her after all.


	24. Chapter 24

Selene wakes up first.

She doesn’t remember when Dirthamen guided her into her bed, or laid down beside her. Doesn’t remember when she stopped crying, but if her still-wet pillow is any indication, it probably wasn’t very long ago.

She’s still wearing her fathers coat.

Of all the things she could have kept to remember him by, the coat is what she took. He barely even wore it. Didn’t leave the Aravel enough to  _need_ to. But she remembers being very little, and watching him lay it over top of her shivering mother who could never seem to get warm enough. Remembers watching her give it back to him in the mornings when she woke, draping it over his shoulders while he worked at his table and give him a kiss on the head before she went to her duties.

It was the one time of day he smiled.

Maybe that’s enough of a reason.

 

She hangs it in her closet. Takes one of the sundresses she bought for dates with Dirthamen out, and goes into the shower. Basks in the smells of her lotions, and soaps and spends a little extra time getting all of the rain out of her hair.

She stares at her reflection in the fogged up mirror. Debates putting her hair up, or to the side, or maybe even getting a hair cut to chop it all off. Thinks about dyeing it, maybe. But in the end, she just leaves it down, and puts on her dress.

 

Dirthamen is awake, but he is pretending to still be sleeping. She sees no reason to disturb him, as she heads out to the kitchen.

Her cupboards and refrigerator are all bare. At least he ate what she left then, she hopes. Or maybe he just threw it out?  
  
She glances over at the plants on her windowsill, still healthy and growing from the cuts she took from her mothers plants so many years ago.

No. He was certainly caring for them regularly, there’s not a brown spot on any of the leafs. He wouldn’t waste food, anyways.

Dirthamen walks out of the bedroom then, slowly, and cautiously. He looks wonderfully rumpled and cozy in a loose t-shirt and sweat pants, hair still partially sticking up on one side.

  
  


“Selene?” he asks. Her chest still warms at hearing him say that, at hearing  _her name,_ and it reminds her that she’s home.

  
  


“Good morning, Dirthamen. I was going to cook you breakfast, but it seems like I’m out of, well, everything.” she jokes.

He nods, but doesn’t respond, otherwise.

 

“Thank you for caring for my plants.” she tries.

“You are welcome.”

  
  


There’s silence again, while Selene pours the two of them water from the tap.

He doesn’t drink his, but he stands on the other side of the breakfast bar and holds the glass, while Selene takes several long gulps from her own.

 

“I’m sorry I was gone so long,” she whispers.

“Would you like to talk about whatever happened?” he offers.

Selene sighs, and licks her lips. Refills her glass while she considers it.

He certainly deserves to know, she supposes. She’s out, and it’s not like she’ll be going back again. Plus after collapsing and crying all over him last night…

 

“My father died.”

 

Dirthamen swallows. “I am…sorry for your loss.”

“Don’t be. I mean. I loved him, I guess. He was my father, right? I sort of have to.” she looks down into her cup, then snorts.

“I’m sure you understand that.”

Dirthamen merely nods.

 

“He wasn’t my father though. I mean, he was, but he- We had a falling out, when I left the clan, and he disowned me in the end. So we hadn’t talked in…about 8 years, now? If he had any other children, they would have taken care of things and I probably wouldn’t have even been notified. He was very…” she sighs. “Traditional.”

  
  


“Is that a bad thing?”

  
  


“It can be. When upholding tradition becomes all you do with your life, it’s just a waste, I think. One of many things we disagreed on.”

  
  


“I see.”

  
  


Selene takes another sip from her water before continuing. “Anyway. He was the clan healer. He taught me, when I was still…I wasn’t born Selene, you know.” she manages. Dirthamen tilts his head curiously, and she can see him trying to form a way of asking that won’t offend her, so she saves him the trouble by pushing on.

“When I was born, I didn’t cry. They thought maybe I had died during the birthing process, but I’m told my father came in and smacked my bottom, and I finally started to yell, then. He declared me alive, and left to go immediately back to work. Apparently that was the most effort he was really willing to put into fatherhood at the time, so my name became Sulvuna. ‘Alive’.”

“Your mother didn’t have any input on the matter?”

“Mamae was…non-confrontational. Very sweet,  _very_  tall, and very kind, but she thought my father was infallible. So any decisions he made were law, regardless of anyone elses thoughts on the matter. They loved each other a lot, they just…”

“Were not good parents.” Dirthamen finishes.

  
  


Selene nods. “Could’ve been a lot worse, though. I was never beaten, or abused. Mamae used to let me play with her in the gardens sometimes, when I was little. After she died, Elrogathe just shut down, though. Stopped talking to people, stopped talking to me even, unless he was teaching me something. As I got older, there was more and more distance between us. He looked at me less and less, hardly said 6 words in a day when I was around.

I tried getting out more, started traveling with one of our lead tradesman, another elf named Haleir. The traveling was nice. I thought Haleir was too, but I turned out to be wrong. My father gave him permission to bond with me, as did our keeper. I said no, though. Obviously. Haleir was 'pure’ Dalish, and both of our bloodlines were full of traditional Dalish elves and history and it would be 'good for the clan and the people’ but I couldn’t do it. Father was mad. I wasn’t enough like him, or like Mamae. I was selfish, ungrateful, a shame upon our clan, and the family. So I left. He told me he didn’t have any children anymore. And that was the last time we spoke.”

  
  


Dirthamen has put down the glass entirely, and is leaning forward on the bar, staring at Selene intently.

“Neglect,” he begins slowly, thinking back on research he had done into this particular subject years ago “ **Is**  a form of abuse. It is not uncommon for such experiences to lead to trouble trusting others, feeling as though you are 'worthless’, or even difficulty regulating your own emotions. You are very strong, for surviving as long as you have on your own.”

  
Selene scoffs, and Dirthamen raises an eyebrow curiously.

Well. She may as well tell him everything, she supposes.

 

“I met a demon, on one of my trips. Desire, but he goes by Des. I guess I repressed a lot of my own desires, trying to appease my father and my clan and there was this whole…” she gestures vaguely in the air with a wave of her hand “knot of stuff inside of me that attracted him, and kept him coming back. He’s stuck around ever since. I can usually handle him alright, but some nights are better than others.”

Dirthamen is still for a few moments, before he nods again “That is why you have difficulty sleeping.”

“Ding ding ding, we have a winner,” she jokes. She licks her lip and takes a deep breath before continuing “It’s worse, away from the city. It was particularly worse while I was gone. I slept but it was…The line between my dreams and reality blurred, a lot. He looked like…well, that’s not important. Anyways. He calls me Sulvuna, still. So does my clan, who apparently thought I was going to stay and inherit my Fathers responsibilities, and I almost did without meaning to, which is part of why I was away for so long, but it was, well. A mess. Pretty sure I’m banned from my own clan now. Anyways. Hearing you call me Selene last night was just such a relief that I fell apart. I’m sorry, for throwing that on you.”

  
  


It’s strange, having her past and secrets bared out in between them. He could just walk out. He probably  _should_ , she thinks. She’s a walking time bomb, after all. But he just stands, and comes around to her. Takes her hands in his, and places a soft kiss to her lips with a whispered “Thank you.”

  
  


When he pulls back, Dirthamen presses his forehead gently to hers, his thumb rubbing back and forth over the back of her hand “I am going to get dressed, and then I would like to take you out for breakfast at the diner, and perhaps spend the day together, since we were unable to before. Would that be acceptable?”

She thinks she might cry again at the rush of relief his acceptance gives her, so she just swallows and nods.

She watches him wander back into her bedroom, and takes a deep breath.

It is good to be home.


	25. Chapter 25

The wedding is in a week.

Selene’s days have been overrun with appointments with florists, bakers, tailors, and Sylaise.

Dirthamen knows she is exhausted, balancing budgets and arranging travel for the guests and appeasing his families tastes. So it strikes him as strange, to roll over in the middle of the night to an empty bed.

But there is light pouring through the bottom of the bedroom door, so he stands and walks to their living room, making a mental list of ways he could entice her to return to bed.

But he freezes when his eyes land on Selene.

She is wearing what he assumes must be her wedding dress. An elaborate white gown with a neckline that is almost touching her jaw, and a mermaid style skirt. There are gemstones embedded throughout the lacework and down the long sleeves of her arms, and her hair looks like its own accessory, cascading over her shoulders and cutting a very striking silhouette.

She looks.

Well.

Like a bride.

 

He swallows, as the reality that he is getting married, Selene is going to _marry_  him, and be his wife, and they will (presumably) be spending the rest of their life together suddenly feels like a very real weight on his shoulders.

 

And then he looks a little closer, and sees the dark circles under her eyes, and the way her arms are wrapped around herself, nails digging into the backs of her arms while she watches herself in the hall mirror.

 

“Selene?” He calls, and she startles, arms dropping to her sides as she spins to look at him.

“Dirthamen? I-sorry, I didn’t mean to-Did I wake you?”

Her voice sounds raw. Scratchy and dry. His fingers itch as he wonders if a glass of water would help her.

“You did not.”

 

She nods, and an awkward silence falls over the room before she shifts on her feet and averts her gaze towards the floor.

“This is probably a little weird.”

“Brides often show abnormal behavior before the day of their wedding,” he evades.

 

Selene swallows and nods again, lifting her arms “Sylaise said if I wore it around a little, I’d feel more comfortable in it.”

 

“Is it working?”

 

“…No.” She sighs, and moves as though she is going to sit on the couch before she scowls at her dress and ends up walking in a circle instead “I just-I don’t know. This whole thing has become-it’s a lot. Your mother won’t stop emailing me with changes to the guest list, your father and Andruil are insisting we serve them  _barbecue_ , June is apparently insulted that I didn’t choose one of  _his_  venues from the list which means he’s going to be passive aggressively insulting everything at the reception, so be prepared for that. I had a nightmare that your brother threw a tantrum during the vows and every time you spoke it was just his voice screaming expletives and curses at me Our wedding theme is going to be  _Dalish Lore,_  despite my protests, and even though I tried to explain to Sylaise that no, Dread Wolf ice sculptures at the gates are not actually appropriate, I’m going to have to try and keep Alaris from inciting a riot over our decorations as well as the others from the clan that asked to attend-and I feel  _ridiculous_  in this dress, I can barely move and I look like someone sculpted it onto me and this is without the train and veil Sylaise is insisting I have to wear with it and I can’t-I can’t  _do_  this Dirthamen. I love you, but I can’t do this. I’m not-I’m not cut out for this. I’m not an Evanuris. I’m sorry.”

 

Dirthamen waits until she seems to have finished, before speaking around the lump in his throat.

“Do you not want to marry me anymore?”

 

Selenes face falls, and she dashes as best she can in her dress towards him.

“No! I mean, not no, but- I  **do** want to marry you, Dirthamen. So much. I love you, more than I have ever loved anyone. I just don’t think I can-I don’t think I can do..” she gestures to herself and then the binder full of color coded page markings sitting on their coffee table “…This.”

 

He nods. He understands his family can be…overbearing. It is not a new problem, although it seems to have compounded over the stress of the upcoming nuptials. He takes her hand in his, and rubs his thumb soothingly over the back of her lace covered hand.

“Then we will do it without all of that.”

 

Selene blinks, and then laughs incredulously.

“You and your family have spent a small fortune on this wedding. There have been newspaper articles about it, and cameramen parked outside of my classroom. Sylaise may actually die of a heart attack if we cancel now.”

“So we will not cancel.”

 

Selene sighs and leans her forehead against his own. “Ok. Vhenan. I’m usually pretty good at keeping up with you, but I need some help on this one, please.”

 

“Alaris should be arriving tomorrow, yes?” Dirthamen ventures, glancing up into her eyes. Selene nods, meeting his gaze, her eyebrows still creased in concern. “In the morning, call Elanna, and whomever else you would like to have most at our wedding. I will cancel whatever you have planned with Sylaise and handle any potential fallout. Then I will call an officiant while you go out and purchase a dress of your choice with whomever you want to be there. We will meet up again just before sundown, and we will get married tomorrow. Then, in a week, we will have the wedding for my family, and whatever demands they make or whatever tantrums get thrown, it will not be able to spoil our wedding, because we will have already had it. Would that be amenable?”

 

Selene blinks, and lets out a sigh before crashing her lips against his.

“Yes,” she whispers against his mouth “Yes, that sounds perfect, and wonderful, and I love you. I love you so much Dirthamen. Dirthamen, will you marry me?”

 

He smiles, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her closer.

“Yes, Selene. I will marry you.”


End file.
